


A Caffrey Christmas Carol

by penna_nomen



Series: Caffrey Conversation [28]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Christmas, Family, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-09 18:43:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8907703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penna_nomen/pseuds/penna_nomen
Summary: Peter & Neal visit Christmas past, present and future, remembering what was & seeing what might have been. 
Alternate universes and meta about the role of writers.Fluff: Neal & Peter as children on Christmas. Neal & Peter meet their Arkham Files selves, Mozzie the mad scientistAngst: Neal & Peter meet their canon selves. Is it real, or just a dream? December 2005 in the CC AU where Peter recruited Neal instead of arresting himCharacters: Neal, Peter, Elizabeth, Mozzie, Jones, Diana, June





	1. Unified Theory of Fiction

**Author's Note:**

> Last year I sent the characters to Hawaii for Christmas and New Year’s. This year I’m sending them someplace even more exotic; yes, it’s a sci-fi Christmas so I can finally answer a question that’s been in the back of my mind for a long time: What would our AU Peter think if he met the canon Peter of season 5?
> 
> This story takes inspiration from A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens and from the movie It’s a Wonderful Life, with references to A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle, The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis, Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams and the poem A Visit from St. Nicholas by Clement Clarke Moore.
> 
> If you’re new to the Caffrey Conversation AU, these stories are a variation of White Collar where Peter and Neal met in late 2003. Peter recruited Neal to join the White Collar team, helping him gain immunity in return for a confession. Since then, Neal has connected with several family members, and is attending Columbia University.
> 
> The latest stories in the AU have been set in May of 2005. I’m skipping ahead to December in order to post this story while I’m in a holiday mood. Silbrith will continue posting stories set in May through November of 2005 over the next few months, and hopefully everything will sync up. 
> 
> This story references Silbrith’s Arkham Files. If you haven’t read those, the premise is as follows: To catch the attention of a cybercriminal who’s a fan of the Lovecraftian Cthulhu Mythos, Agent Diana Berrigan started writing stories placing the White Collar characters into that setting in the 1970s. In her stories, Peter and Neal and Mozzie are professors at Arkham College, Elizabeth is a doctor, and Diana & Jones are cops.

**Burke** **Townhouse, Brooklyn, NY. Early Friday morning. December 16, 2005.**

Peter reached for the sugar bowl, and his wife pushed his hand away. It was a game they played whenever they had oatmeal for breakfast. “Add raisins if you want more flavor,” she said this time.

He reached for the raisins. “So you still want to keep me healthy?” he teased, kicking off a long-running joke.

Elizabeth nodded. “I plan on an eventful retirement one day, and that means you need to stay healthy enough to go on adventures together.”

Discussing those adventures helped him ignore how bland the oatmeal was, even with raisins. She mentioned visiting France, hitting the beaches and art museums. He suggested heading north from there, to see old Viking villages and to watch the Northern Lights.

Compromise and variety, those were keys to their marriage. Plus openness, of course.

Elizabeth’s phone beeped to let her know she had a text message, and she bit her lip. Normally they had a policy of silencing their phones when they had meals together, but her event planning business was booming right now with holiday parties. The threat of an ice storm on Sunday had many clients anxious about plans for next week.

Peter grinned. “One spoonful of sugar in exchange for you reading that message.”

“Deal,” she said, grabbing her phone. It beeped again while she was reading, and she didn’t even notice what a heaping spoonful of sugar Peter managed to balance before pouring it into his oatmeal. She huffed out an impatient breath. “A client is worried the furnace is malfunctioning at one of my venues for next week. I need to get over there to assess the situation and discuss alternate locations.” She stopped staring at her phone and looked at Peter. “Can you take Satchmo to his appointment at the V-E-T this morning for his annual checkup?” They’d taken to spelling out _vet_ because hearing the word made their Labrador hide. “I can pick him up in the afternoon, but I need to deal with this.” She was already standing up and carrying her breakfast dishes to the kitchen.

It was on the tip of Peter’s tongue to suggest rescheduling the appointment, but in fact things were slow at the Bureau. Many team members were taking the next two weeks as vacation, and therefore weren’t picking up new cases. Yesterday the bullpen had reminded him of that Christmas poem about the night before Christmas, because not an agent was stirring. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I’ll call the office and get someone else to lead the morning briefing.”

He ate one last bite of his oatmeal to hide his smile. El was up to something. She hadn’t forgotten to silence her phone this morning. She’d been expecting that text, and had been concentrating on her phone so she wouldn’t look at Peter and start laughing. The lack of actually scrolling through her messages had given her away.

 

**White** **Collar Division, Manhattan, NY. Friday morning. December 16, 2005.**

“Surprise!”

Neal didn’t have much experience with surprise parties, but he was certain this one wasn’t a surprise. It wasn’t just that Peter would have seen the cake and balloons as soon as he entered the bullpen and looked up at the glass-walled conference room — it was also that Peter and Elizabeth didn’t have a lot of practice keeping secrets from each other. Her job had been to make sure Peter came in late, so they’d have time to set up the party decorations. Neal could have told Jones that bringing El into the surprise was a weakness in the plan, but decided to stay quiet about it. Peter probably enjoyed figuring out the team’s secret in advance.

“You knew, didn’t you?” Neal asked as he handed Peter a glass of ginger ale.

Peter shrugged. “The fact that yesterday absolutely no one commented on my two-year anniversary as the leader of this team made me suspicious. The best explanation was that someone decided Friday would be a better day for a celebration than a Thursday.”

“Feeling smug?”

“A bit,” Peter admitted. “I haven’t forgotten that yesterday was also your two-year anniversary on the team. You doing okay?”

“I’m not going to repeat last year’s panic,” Neal promised. A year ago he’d worried he wasn’t reformed enough and had considered quitting.

“Good.” Peter sounded relieved. “The fact that you were the only one who came down with strep throat at the end of last year always seemed odd to me. El thinks your stress made you more susceptible than the rest of us.”

Jones carrying over slices of cake gave Neal an excuse to change the subject. “This bakery we tried did a great job with the cake. Maybe El should use them sometime for one of her events. They probably…”

The room fell silent when Reese Hughes arrived. Peter’s boss didn’t often join them for meetings, instead spending his time with teams that weren’t running as smoothly as White Collar. “Quite a year,” Hughes said in his dry manner. “I’ve been reviewing the team’s case files for 2005, and I have to say they read more like an adventure movie than government documents.”

From where he was slicing the remaining pieces of cake Travis said, “If we’re comparing cases to movies, then I have to say the search for Hagen felt like a crossover between _Dracula_ and _Close Encounters of the Third Kind_.”

“Not a Star Trek film?” Neal asked, because he knew Travis was a fan of Spock.

That elicited a snort. “I wish. That case wasn’t nearly logical enough for my taste.”

“Capturing Keller could be _The Curse of the Mummy’s Tomb_ ,” Jones said.

“Oh, and the undercover op at the posh resort.” Diana fluttered her eyelashes in an imitation of the suspect’s love-struck wife, who had been besotted with Peter in his role of a ski-instructor. “That was totally _Dirty Dancing_.”

“I did my best when the resort held their dance,” Peter added with a sheepish grin. “It’s generous of you to imply I achieved anything close to Patrick Swayze’s moves.”

“Well, I have to say it,” Neal said. “Chasing leads on Ydrus and Azathoth across Europe was like a James Bond movie.”

There was a groan from the team members who knew Neal had once been known as _James Bonds_ in the FBI case files.

“He’s right, though,” said Diana. “After Neal and Peter teamed up with Interpol, the reports we were getting sounded like a mix of James Bond with Harry Potter, plus a dash of Doctor Who.”

“Don’t forget the U-boat angle,” added Jones. “That was like _The Hunt for Red October_ meets a World War II flick like _The Train_.”

Peter chuckled. “You know, most people who sign up to be FBI agents have unrealistic expectations about how exciting it’s going to be. This year exceeded any expectations I had at Quantico. Honestly, a nice boring mortgage fraud case sounds pretty good right now.”

“I can’t think of a movie based on mortgage fraud,” Neal said.

“How about _It’s a Wonderful Life_?” Diana suggested. “Bank fraud. Close enough.”

Neal noticed that Peter frowned oddly. A bad memory related to the movie, perhaps? 

“Or _A Christmas Carol_ ,” Peter added. “El’s community theater group is performing that now. Definitely some labor law infringements going on, and it wouldn’t surprise me if Scrooge was cooking the books. He probably owed taxes.”

Hughes chuckled and then said, “There’s a meeting I need to join soon, but before I go I’d like to say a few words.” When the room was silent he said, “First, I know the nor’easter heading up the East Coast is threatening to interfere with travel plans that some of you have for the next few days. Play it safe, and if you need to reschedule to get out of town ahead of the storm, then you don’t need to ask permission to leave work early today.” He paused as several agents called out thanks and whistled in appreciation. “Second, I want to congratulate Peter on his anniversary as the leader of this team, and to extend my thanks to the entire team for your extraordinary work this year. In fact, my next meeting involves negotiating to get this department funding for the raises you all deserve.”

A cheer followed, with team members shouting encouragement for Hughes to get to that meeting on time.

He had taken a step toward the door when his gaze fell on Neal, and Hughes stopped to say, “And it’s a service anniversary for you, Caffrey. I’d almost forgotten. I’ll admit when Peter first recruited you I didn’t believe you’d last a year, much less two. I think it behooves a leader to admit when he’s wrong, and I’ll even go so far as to say on this occasion I’m glad I was wrong. It’s difficult to imagine the team without you.”

This time Neal was the one hiding a frown. He thanked Hughes, and then fell silent as various agents congratulated Peter again before heading back to their desks. Neal stuck around to help with the clean-up, mostly trying to recapture the moment and the thoughts that had briefly danced in his head when Hughes made that comment. It was like a dark variation of visions of sugarplums. He had the annoying feeling that some half-forgotten memory was trying to come forward and couldn’t quite make itself heard.

“Care to share the secret to your success, Peter?”

Peter looked startled, as if he had also been lost in thought. “Tricia! I didn’t notice you before. When did you get here?”

“I slipped in while Hughes was giving his speech. Even though I transitioned out of your team this year, I wanted to join the celebration. Congratulations, Peter.”

“Thanks. There’s some cake left, if you want.”

Tricia smiled. “Not for me. I’m watching my weight.”

Peter looked askance at his own plate. “No wonder El didn’t want me adding sugar to my oatmeal this morning. She knew I’d be indulging in cake.” He put down his plate. “There. I won’t keep eating it if I’m not holding it. Getting back to your question though, I think my wife had a big role in my success. She’s an excellent listener, and she has… Maybe _empathy_ is the word I’m looking for. She understands how the cases affect me and how to help me decompress. Sometimes I worry, though, that she’s too interested in my work. I don’t want her getting involved and endangering herself. That’s one reason why I usually wait until after a case is over to share many details.”

“I’ve enjoyed getting to know Elizabeth better as a member of the Arkham Round Table.”

Several months ago Hughes had approved a plan in which they tried influencing a cybercriminal known as Azathoth by having Diana write Cthulhu Mythos fan fiction, which she posted in forums Azathoth visited. The Arkham Round Table was made up of Diana and a group of editors and advisors, which included several White Collar team members, plus El and Mozzie. June Ellington acted as a beta reader and hosted the meetings in her home, as it was rare to get Mozzie to agree to enter the Federal Building. Tricia had contributed in her role as a Behavioral Analyst, providing suggestions of what would influence their target reader.

“It’s a perfect compromise. El gets her wish of contributing toward a case, and I don’t have to worry that she’s in danger,” Peter said. “You have a Round Table meeting today, right?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, that’s something I wanted to discuss. Do you have time now?”

Neal was running out of things to pretend to be picking up so that he could keep eavesdropping. “I’ll get out of your way,” he offered.

To his surprise, Tricia said, “No, stay. I’d like to talk to both of you.”

Peter led them into his office, and when they were seated he asked, “What’s on your mind?”

She took a deep breath and said, “Sometimes, even strong teams have things they want to say to one another but don’t feel comfortable expressing aloud. They often find other ways to get their message across.”

“They’re using the stories to send messages to each other?” Peter asked.

“They know the whole team reads Diana’s stories. In recent chapters we’ve covered everything from annoying habits of colleagues to giving dating advice to Neal.”

Neal chuckled. “Yeah, I’ve definitely noticed their fascination with Neal Carter’s love life. I figured it was payback for all the suggestions I’d been emailing Diana for my character.”

“You, too?” Peter asked. “El finally told me I can only give her three suggestions to take with her to each Round Table meeting.” Facing Tricia he said, “Are they concerned about us trying to meddle with our characters?”

“No, I’d say meddling with characters is the status quo, but I think you should join a session in person to hear first-hand what they’re saying, and to make the case for your own ideas. The series is at a turning point now and could use your direct input. And I think they could use your expertise in dealing with Mozzie. He’s been cornering each of the individual members of the Round Table over the last week, advocating for major changes. Yesterday was my turn, and he told me he wants to explore whether either of your characters regretted starting to work with the other.”

Neal and Peter glanced at each other, and Hughes’ words echoed through Neal’s mind: _imagine the team without you._ Neal frowned as the odd memories kept trying to bubble to the surface. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Hold off on that a few days. The Arkham Round Table is supposed to meet at 3:00 this afternoon, and that’s also when my sons get out of school for their winter break. I expect the boys will be bouncing off the walls, and I don’t want to leave my husband alone to deal with that. I’d like to make that my excuse to send both of you as my substitutes to this afternoon’s meeting. Listen to what Mozzie’s saying in that context. Then let’s talk next week about how we should handle it.”

“Can we kick him out of the group?” Peter suggested.

“That’s tempting at times,” Tricia admitted, “but he does make valuable contributions. His knowledge of science, of the writings of Lovecraft, and of the 1970s setting is genuinely helpful. And honestly, I think spending time in a forum with FBI agents has helped a little with his paranoia about the government.”

**White** **Collar Division, Manhattan, NY. Friday afternoon. December 16, 2005.**

Neal ducked into an empty conference room, closed the door, and pulled out his cell phone. He dialed his cousin’s number.

“Hey, Neal,” Henry said. “What’s up?”

“You gotta help me, man. I’m desperate.”

There’d been background noise on Henry’s side of the call, but it stopped. Henry had also stepped into a quiet space. “Anything you need, just tell me the problem and I’m there for you.”

“Tricia talked Peter and me into taking her place in an Arkham Round Table session later today. Acted like it was no big deal. She’s a master con artist. I had no idea what I was stepping into. You have to come with me, or I swear I might choke Mozzie. Or one of my team members. It’s a toss-up at this point.”

“You’re talking about Diana’s writing group? I haven’t read her latest stories.”

“Writing group. Loony bin. Take your pick. These people are certifiable. They seem all normal until they start talking about writing, and then they get this crazed look in their eyes.” The blinds over the glass walls in the conference room were closed, so the loonies shouldn’t be able to find him here, but Neal peeked between the slats to make sure he hadn’t been followed.

“Okay. I wanna help, but you need to take a deep breath and tell me exactly what’s going on.”

Neal took that breath and also sat down. “It seemed innocent enough at first, you know? Tricia told them that Peter and I would join their session. Travis was the first one to stop by my desk. He asked me to help with Mozzie. Turns out Mozz is obsessing over some theory of wormholes and alternate universes.”

“Isn’t that the premise of the stories? Cthulhu and his band of monsters travel to Arkham or pull people from Arkham into bizarre worlds?”

“Yeah, but Mozzie’s insisting that Arkham isn’t a fictional setting created by Lovecraft and his fans, but that it’s a real place. It’s an alternate reality that we can visit. And the characters, the ones based on him and me and Peter and so on, they’re all real people — parallel versions of ourselves. He insists that the Arkham version of himself — the professor of astrophysics — is duplicating his own efforts to travel between our realities, and therefore Diana needs to write that as a plot element into her stories for accuracy.”

“Yeah, that sounds kind of annoying. But that’s not enough to provoke you into violence.”

“Jones decided to join the conversation, next. He said Mozzie wants to explore alternate universes in which we took different paths. Like one where Jones became a lawyer instead of an FBI agent. Or one where I turned down the chance to exchange a confession for immunity. It’s… He did this last year, too. Mozzie, I mean. When I hit my first anniversary of working for Peter, Mozzie started bemoaning how I’d sold out, and that fed into my stress about whether I’d made the right choice. And then Diana joined the throng at my desk. Mozzie wants her to wear some kind of electronic device on her head when she sleeps, to measure brain waves, because he has a theory that writers and other creative people travel to alternate universes for their ideas, most notably when they’re asleep or daydreaming. She’s insulted that Mozzie believes she isn’t really creative at all. Instead of having unique ideas, she’s simply reporting visions she has of other worlds.”

“I’m getting why Diana might be tempted to inflict violence,” Henry said.

“Then she went back to her desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a couple of stuffed animals. Little guys, you know? One would fit in your hand. She brought a lion over to me, told me his name is Nick, and that he’s my muse or spirit animal or something. Everyone in the writing group has to have one, apparently.”

“What about Peter?”

Neal smiled slightly. “She plans to give him a panda named Petric.”

“Still not seeing the need for violence.”

“It’s complicated.”

“It’s something you don’t want to talk about, so you’re giving me a frame and not filling in the picture. If you don’t tell me the real issue, I can’t help you, kiddo.”

Unable to sit still for this, Neal paced the room as he explained, “This morning Hughes made a comment about how the team would be different without me, and as soon as he said it, I had this… almost a headache, but there and gone like a flash. A microburst headache. Ever since, there have been these… these memories on the edge of my mind that I can’t quite access. The few times I’ve gotten close to them, they’re familiar and yet they’re not. It’s almost like someone else’s memories. And that sounds crazy. But each time someone complained about Mozzie and his theories, the stronger these un-memories became. I think…” Neal paused and ran a hand through his hair. “I think I was dreaming about these alternate worlds and stuff. Last night, maybe the last several nights. And I don’t want to talk about it, but I don’t want to go off the deep end, either.”

“How can I help?”

“Can you get away from work and join the Round Table at 3:00? Instead of hearing complaints from everyone else about Mozzie, we’ll get his exact words, and then afterward I can try to remember the dream. Between us, maybe we can make sense of it. In fact… There’s one more piece I didn’t mention.” Unsure if he wanted to stand or sit, Neal compromised by leaning against the table. “The latest forecasts have bumped up the timing of the ice storm, and now they think it will hit the city this evening. When June heard that, she invited all the members of the Round Table to stay the night. Most of them are jazzed about having an overnight writing session. I need someone who can act as a buffer.”

“Peter can’t do that?”

“The thing is, Peter had a reaction this morning to someone mentioning _It’s a Wonderful Life_. Something about it made me think… I mean, I don’t have proof, but I have this feeling I’m not the only one with weird dream-like memories.”

“Got it. El will watch out for Peter, and I’ll watch out for you. I’ll pack a bag and be at June’s place by 3:00. Should I bring candles or something?”

“It’s a writing group. We’re not conducting a séance.”

“I mean in case the power goes out, wiseass.”

“Nah. Over the summer Mozzie convinced June that she shouldn’t be entirely dependent on the grid. She installed solar panels on the roof. That’ll keep the hot water heater and the kitchen appliances going even if the electricity goes out. She stocked up on wood for the fireplaces last month, and that gives us heat. Peter said he’ll bring battery-powered lanterns for light.”

“What about food?”

Typical Henry. “An event El had planned for tomorrow is cancelled due to the storm, but the caterer prepared most of the food today. Since Burke Premiere Events had already paid for it, she’s going to pick up what she’s describing as a feast.” Neal paused for emphasis before adding, “And yes, there are multiple desserts in this feast. At least one of them is chocolate.”

“Good to know. I’ll call Elizabeth to see if she needs help transporting all that food. No need to risk a dessert being left behind because she didn’t have space in her car. I’ll stay in your apartment overnight, and if you start having a nightmare or vivid dream, I promise I’ll wake you up. We can talk through your dreams while you still remember them.”

“Thanks,” said Neal. He didn’t have to say anything else. He knew his deep gratitude was reflected in his voice.

**Neal’s** **loft. Friday night. December 16, 2005.**

“What was in that wine?” Henry asked, groaning after he followed Neal upstairs to the loft.

It was a good question. Throughout the Arkham Round Table session, Mozzie had barely spoken, making Neal wonder if the complaints of the others had been a hoax of some kind. But Mozz had simply been biding his time. As dinner was served, he poured everyone glasses of his latest variety of honey wine, and then things went sideways.

For the last week or so, Mozz had been experimenting with increasingly odd ingredients in his wines, to the point that Neal wondered if something was affecting his friend’s palate. Some of the results were barely drinkable.

Tonight Peter had taken a sip, made a face, and started to push his glass away, but Elizabeth put a hand on his arm and insisted that he finish one glass and then he could switch to coffee. Everyone else but Jones followed their lead, drinking one glass and refusing a refill. After sniffing the contents of his glass, Jones announced he wasn’t “a wine guy” and switched to water. As the rest of them forced down the stuff — Neal felt it was overly generous to call it wine — they often gazed at Jones with jealousy.

About half way through the meal, Mozzie began elaborating on the inspiration he’d gained recently from reading _A Wrinkle in Time_.

Neal was vaguely familiar with the scientific concept of a Theory of Everything, but Mozzie had taken that and run with it in an entirely different direction. Throughout the meal he’d expounded on a unified theory of literature. There was no such thing as fiction, he insisted. Every story was true in its “source universe” and authors were simply people whose minds had unconscious access to those other worlds. Therefore the travel described in a story like _A Wrinkle in Time_ was equally as true as the time travel described in _A Christmas Carol_ and _It’s a Wonderful Life._ By studying these works, Mozzie was certain that people could learn to travel to the worlds of their choosing. Therefore, people who had regrets about a specific life choice could visit an alternate version of themselves who hadn’t made that choice and observe the results.

The group had intended to watch movies in the mansion’s media room later that evening, but by the end of the meal everyone except Jones was looking a little green. Whatever was in that wine had not mixed well with the meal, and it was mutually agreed that going to bed and sleeping it off sounded like a good idea. Even Mozzie seemed a little woozy.

In case the power went out later, Neal built a fire in the loft’s fireplace to give them light and warmth. Before the Round Table they’d set up a cot for Henry to sleep in, so they only had to don their sleepwear and slip into their respective beds.

It felt odd that he’d just thought the word _don_ , but the wine really was messing with his head. Neal and Henry tried talking about Mozzie’s ravings, but both fell asleep within minutes.

He must have been dreaming about Christmas, because when Neal woke to a pounding on the door, the words of a holiday poem were running through his head with a slight variation, _When out in the hall there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter_.

Neither Neal nor Henry actually sprang from their beds. They’d piled on so many blankets that it took more effort than usual to extricate themselves, but soon Neal was running to the door, mentally cursing the cold hardwood floor and his decision not to take the time to put on shoes.

“Power’s out,” said Henry, who had gone in the direction of a light switch.

Opening the door, Neal saw Mozzie carrying a lit candle. Odd choice, given that Peter had given everyone battery-powered lanterns or flashlights. “Mozz, what the hell?” Neal asked. Leaving the door open, he walked back to the bedroom area and slid on slippers. Henry was sitting on the cot, pulling on warm socks.

Then Henry switched on their lantern and Neal could see Mozzie more clearly. He had changed into something different from what he’d been wearing earlier, but it wasn’t sleepwear. He wore orange corduroy pants, an olive green turtleneck, and a gray tweed jacket with elbow patches. In other words, he’d dressed like a garish version of his counterpart in Diana’s stories — Professor Dante Atwood.

Their visitor was wandering around the loft as if he’d never been there before. He reached the French doors overlooking the terrace and exclaimed, “Snow! Perfect. Exactly what I had in mind. You’re familiar with _A Christmas Carol_ , yes?”

“We were talking about it over dinner, remember? El’s playing the part of Scrooge’s fiancee in the community theater production.”

“Excellent. My doppelgänger prepared you exactly as promised. You must…” Mozzie’s meanderings had taken him to the kitchen, where he stopped in apparent surprise. “I was expecting more advancements in the appliances. It is 2005, correct?”

“You’ve seen them a hundred times, Mozz. They’re vintage.” The firelight caused an unusual effect, making it look like Mozzie was flickering. It reminded Neal of watching an old, worn film, and in fact sometimes it seemed like the color faded out and Mozzie was in black-and-white, which was preferable to seeing his outfit in all its glory. “What’s with the costume? Not to mention pounding on the door after everyone’s gone to bed?”

Mozzie said, “For the purposes of this conversation, you may want to call me _Dante_. That will reduce confusion with your friend. I dressed in a caricature of 1970s style in order to make it even more obvious that I’m not the Mozzie you know.”

Henry scoffed. “You woke us up to role-play your part in The Arkham Files? C’mon, man. Isn’t it enough you poisoned us with that weird wine?”

Mozzie-Dante turned toward Henry and studied him carefully. “You’re Neal’s cousin. I’ve heard about you. You don’t have a presence in my world or at least, you aren’t known to me there. Unfortunately, I won’t get to know you here. My time is brief, as I’m needed back in Arkham to direct this experiment. I came here to confirm our unified theory of fiction, and to let you know what to expect.” Now his mannerisms were less what Neal recognized as Mozzie and more what he saw in his professors at Columbia when they were leading a lecture. “Think of me as your Jacob Marley, who sets up the story. Tonight I’ll send three sets of otherworldly visitors to guide you. They will help you explore the past, present and future, showing you alternatives to your current path. Prepare to be amazed!”

Then Mozzie was surrounded by a brilliant light. By the time Neal’s eyes stopped watering, their intruder was gone.

“Ow,” said Henry, rubbing his eyes. “How’d he do that?”

“We discussed something like that once, a chemical compound that would create a blinding light to disable security guards during a heist. The challenge was creating special glasses so we could still see to escape. I didn’t realize he’d kept working on it.”

“Looks like he perfected it. You gotta convince him to teach me how to make that compound, and the glasses of course.”

“Yeah,” Neal said. “In the morning we’ll track him down and make him tell us all about it.”

“Not gonna follow him now?”

“Not gonna give him the satisfaction.” Neal yawned and turned toward his bed. His eyes had finally adjusted so that he could see furniture as more than big blobs, and what he saw shocked him. “What happened?”

**Guest** **bedroom. Friday night. December 16, 2005.**

Peter tried not to wake his wife when he slipped out of bed, but he heard her ask, “What’s wrong?”

“I think that wine gave me heartburn. Did we pack any antacids?”

El sat up and pushed her hair back, and looking at her, he was reminded of the words of that old Christmas poem, _And mamma in her ‘kerchief and I in my cap, had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap_.

Given the possible power outage, they were wearing the matching flannel pajamas her parents had given them for Christmas three years ago. They were a hideous plaid, but at least they were more comfortable than the sweaters El’s mother knitted. This set had come with caps or hats of some sort, but they’d never worn them.

“I don’t think so,” El said, “but let’s look.” She slipped out of bed to join him in rummaging through the bag they’d packed.

“Maybe in the kitchen?” Peter suggested, since he usually kept some on hand there at home.

“I doubt it. Not in a household with a professional chef. Neal’s loft is just one floor up. Let’s see if he has some, or if he can at least tell us where to look.”

They paused to put on slippers and then traipsed upstairs. Peter knocked softly on the door. “Neal? You awake?”

The door opened, and to his surprise it was Mozzie, who for some reason was wearing something out of the 1970s. “Welcome,” he said. “I was about to go looking for you.”

With remarkable tact, El said, “That’s an amazing outfit. You should wear it to the Arkham Round Table to channel your character. Did Janet find it for you?” she asked, naming his girlfriend who worked in fashion and costume design.

“Ah, yes, I would like to meet Janet, but we don’t have time for that now.”

Peter blamed the weird wine for that nonsensical remark, and wondered why he wasn’t hearing any other voices from the room. He pushed past Mozzie and saw that Neal’s bed and Henry’s cot were empty, with the blankets pushed aside as if they’d risen in a rush. “Where’d they go?”

El followed him and also looked around the room. “Mozzie, what happened to Neal and Henry?”

With a slight bow, Mozzie said, “A pleasure to meet you, and the name is Professor Dante Atwood. Have no fear for your friends. They’re just next door, cosmically speaking. You’ll see them again soon.”

“What are you talking about?” Peter said.

“Hmm. Not as bright as Professor Peter Gilman, I fear. My counterpart assured me he had explained this to you already during the meal. Wormholes. Parallel universes. These aren’t novel concepts, although they have been the topic of many novels.” He grinned. “Excuse my play on words. But you are familiar with science fiction, yes? And _A Christmas Carol_? Your friends said they knew of the story.”

Peter was about to start demanding answers, when El squeezed his arm and said, “Excuse us a moment, professor? We need something from the bathroom and we’ll be right back.” She tugged her husband along and opened the medicine cabinet.

“Yes!” Peter grabbed a bottle of pills and swallowed two. “Want some?”

El held out her hand and took two pills herself. “There’s something very strange about Mozzie,” she said in an undertone. She shook her head at her husband’s incredulous expression. “No, seriously, he’s different tonight. I wonder if he drank more of that wine than the rest of us, and is having some kind of… I don’t know, a psychotic episode? I don’t think we should upset him, especially if we want to find out where Neal and Henry are.”

For the wise woman who’d led him to the magic medicine, he was willing to make concessions. Peter nodded. “He likes you. Go ahead and take the lead.”

They returned to find Mozzie gleefully going through Neal’s bookcase, as if he hadn’t seen the books many times before. “Professor Atwood?” said El tentatively. “You said we’ll see our friends soon. Can you show us the way?”

“An adventurous spirit! That’s more like it. I’ll send you back in their direction now. Neal is waiting for you. Follow me.” He started walking toward the terrace, and then disappeared in a blinding flash of light.

Peter squeezed El’s hand while his vision gradually returned to normal. He kept blinking, assuming his eyes were still tricked by the light, but El’s gasp told him he wasn’t the only one seeing the impossible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are these wine-induced dreams, or something more incredible? Check out the next chapter, where the characters take a tour of Christmas past.
> 
> During the party, some of the cases the characters mention will occur in stories Silbrith hasn't posted yet. Hope you enjoyed the teasers!
> 
> For more visuals related to the story, see the A Caffrey Christmas Carol board on Pinterest. For more about the series, visit our blog: Penna Nomen and Silbrith Conversation at Blogspot.


	2. Christmas Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neal and Peter visit their childhood Christmases.

**Cosmically** **next door to Neal’s loft. Friday night. December 16, 2005.**

“We didn’t leave your loft,” Henry insisted.

Neal nodded. He agreed they hadn’t moved after that flash of light accompanying Mozzie’s disappearance, but the fact remained that they were now standing in an unfamiliar living room.

“Oh, they’re here already.”

Neal sighed a breath of relief. That was Elizabeth’s voice, which meant Peter was probably around, too. In fact, he walked into the room a moment later carrying a plate of brownies. “Welcome! It’s a cold night. Care for a warm brownie?”

Henry automatically reached for the plate, but Neal grabbed his arm. “This all started with drinking Mozzie’s strange wine. Do you really want to eat the first thing offered to you in this dreamscape?”

“You think it’s like _Alice in Wonderland_ , and the food is going to make us grow or shrink?”

“Who knows?” Neal turned to Peter and Elizabeth. El was wearing a white doctor’s jacket over a tight blue sweater and bellbottom jeans, and Peter’s hair was inexplicably bushier.

Well, there was an explanation, if he was willing to believe these weren’t the Burkes, but were instead Professor Peter Gilman and his wife, Doctor Elizabeth Wayland.

A moan caught Neal’s attention. Henry was eating one of the brownies and was in chocolate bliss. “You’re missing out, man. They taste as good as they smell,” he said before popping the rest of the brownie in his mouth. When Neal glared at him, he shrugged and swallowed. “You said it yourself, it’s just a dream. All of the taste, none of the calories. Might was well enjoy the food.”

“If this is all a dream, which one of you is dreaming it?” Elizabeth asked.

“I am,” Neal and Henry said at the same time.

“What do you think are the chances that you’re both having the same dream?” she continued.

Neal looked at Henry, “You’re the one with the masters in psychology.”

That comment caused El to look at Henry speculatively, as if this were news to her.

Henry picked out another brownie. “The exact same dream, it’s almost unheard of.”

“What’s going on here?” Neal asked.

Peter shook his head and said to his wife, “I knew Mozzie would botch the explanations. He assumes everyone is already on his wavelength.”

Neal crossed his arms. “How about filling in the gaps? I get that you’re supposed to be the 1970s Arkham version of the Peter and El we know, but why bring us here? And if this isn’t a dream, how did we get here?”

Peter looked perplexed a moment. Then he gestured for them to sit down, but he remained standing like a professor used to speaking in front of a lecture hall. “I have to keep reminding myself you aren’t the Neal I know. You look so much alike, it’s throwing me off my game a little, to be honest.”

“Are we so different?” Neal asked.

Henry snorted. “Neal Carter is a softened version of you, meant to gain a specific reader’s sympathy. He’s younger, nerdier, and less sure of himself.”

“I thought you hadn’t been reading Diana’s stories,” Neal said.

“I’m a fast learner.” Turning to Peter he recommended, “Focus on me instead of Neal if it helps move this along.”

Peter nodded and said, “You’re familiar with Newton’s laws of motion? Specifically, that every action provokes an equal and opposite reaction?”

Neal and Henry both nodded.

 

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

“If you think of universes as existing on a continuum, where what we know as normal is near the center, then Azathoth is entering our universe from the far edges of the continuum. This causes a stress on our reality. You might think of it as pressure building up, and the reaction is the opening of connections to the universes nearby ours to relieve that pressure.”

Peter and Elizabeth were standing in a loft that was similar to Neal’s, but different enough to feel wrong. And they had been greeted by a version of Neal who was four years younger than their friend, with longer hair. He wore a navy blue oxford shirt and dark blue jeans. He’d been extremely polite and was responding to Peter’s demands for explanations by lecturing like the Professor Neal Carter of Diana’s stories.

“Professor Atwood theorized that he could find these connections and use them to travel to parallel universes. He found that the universes most readily open to him were those where a version of himself existed, and on each visit he was drawn to a time and place where he had a presence. Often he encountered versions of the three of us, and of those versions, you were his favorites. He felt a need to bring you out of your reality for a set of visits. There’s something he wants you to see, and he thought modeling his approach on the visits by the ghosts of Christmas past, present and yet-to-come would give you a framework that wouldn’t… well, wouldn’t blow your minds.”

“He couldn’t just tell us?” Peter said on a huff of frustration.

“Seeing is believing,” Neal countered. “Besides, he loves drama. He hasn’t even told me what we’re going to see. He simply left me the codes to take us there. I wish I could tell you more, but our time is limited. If you’ll follow me.” He opened the door to the terrace, and held out his hand. El clasped it, and she was already holding Peter’s hand.

“Are you sure about this?” Peter asked her.

She nodded. “It’s Neal. Not exactly our Neal, but we know Diana based him on someone we love. I trust him.” And with that, they walked into a white expanse.

 

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Professor Peter Gilman had lectured for about ten minutes when his wife interrupted. “I wish we could take an hour or so to answer all of your questions, but Professor Atwood said we don’t have much time before the effects of the wine wear off,” Elizabeth said. “And in all honesty, you probably won’t believe it until you experience it, so just follow us.”

As Elizabeth led them to the front entryway, Peter grabbed El’s hand and Neal’s. “It’s less disorienting if you hold on,” he advised.

Henry wiped his hands on his pajama pants to brush off the brownie crumbs and then took Neal’s free hand. When El opened the door they stepped into a bright, white expanse. “A blizzard?” Henry asked. But it wasn’t cold or windy. It was simply blank.

El was holding a list and read a code from it. It sounded like a formula of some sort. Moments later the blankness was replaced with a bedroom that looked vaguely familiar, but Neal couldn’t quite place it. A small, dark-haired child was sleeping in a crib.

“Um,” said Henry.

Before Neal could ask what was bugging him, the bedroom door opened and a woman walked in with a four-year-old boy on her hip. “Dressa?” Neal asked, taking a step toward her.

“She can’t see or hear us,” Peter said, and indeed she showed no sign of noticing the four adults hovering along the edge of the room.

“Is this one of her movies?” Neal asked. He’d never seen his grandmother looking so young outside of the films she’d starred in.

Henry shook his head, still speechless apparently.

“You remember Neal, don’t you?” Dressa asked as she carried the little boy over to the crib. “He’s your cousin.”

“What’s a cousin?” the boy asked.

“Well, it means his mommy is your mommy’s sister.”

The boy looked confused. “Is he my brother?”

“It’s a lot like a brother. I call him Baby Bear, because of the way he growls when he’s cranky.” Irene suddenly tickled the little boy, who shrieked with laughter. The baby chuckled along but didn’t wake up. “And you’re my Tickle Bug.”

The boy frowned. “But bugs are littler than bears.”

Dressa kissed the boy. “Baby Bears are tiny. A Tickle Bug can still be bigger. We’d better let this bear finish his nap.” She carried him out again.

“This is their house,” Neal said. The room had been redecorated over the years, but he recognized it now as one of the bedrooms in their grandparents’ home. It was slowly fading back to white again. “Are we watching a home movie turned into a 3-D holographic experience?”

Rather than answer, El read another code. They were in the house’s living room now, where a Christmas tree was decorated in red, with white and gold stockings hanging from the fireplace mantle. The little boy who had been Henry was six years old now, and he ran into the room followed by his parents. He hugged his grandparents, looked around the room and then took Dressa’s hand and tugged urgently. “Is he upstairs? Where is he?”

“Who?” she asked.

“The bear! He’s always here at Christmas. We’re gonna play.”

“Henry, stop it!” his father ordered. “You’ve made enough fuss about this imaginary Christmas bear.”

“Oh,” said Henry’s mother. “After all these months, I thought he’d forgotten.”

“Baby Bear,” whispered Irene. “I’m sorry, Henry. He isn’t here anymore.”

“But he’s my brother! At Christmas time when I come here I get a brother to play with!” The little boy started sobbing until his father admonished him to be quiet.

Neal turned to Henry. “It’s the first Christmas after I moved to St. Louis. You still remembered me?”

Henry nodded. “I’d forgotten about that crying jag, but yeah, the plans for our usual Christmas in D.C. triggered my memories of playing with you. I was certain you’d be there. Dad kept insisting you were an imaginary friend until I finally believed him, especially since I had the whole bear and brother concepts confused and was old enough to realize that didn’t entirely make sense.”

Little Henry sat down beside the Christmas tree and pretended to be interested in the presents, but he was using that as an excuse to keep his back to the adults and wipe away the tears that his father had sneered at.

In an instinctive move, Neal walked over to sit beside the boy. He put a hand on the kid’s shoulder, and to his surprise the boy looked up at him. He stopped sniffling and asked, “Who’re you?”

The boy’s family seemed frozen. “I thought you said we couldn’t interact with them,” adult Henry said.

“I didn’t expect you to try touching them,” El said. “He’s aware of Neal, but will only remember this as a dream.”

Meeting the eyes of the child, Neal uttered words he’d thought he’d never say. “I’m Baby Bear, the grown up version. I’m real, and someday you’ll find me again. We’ll always be best friends.”

“When?”

“A long time from now,” Neal admitted. “When you’re really old. You’ll be twenty.”

“Okay.” The boy studied Neal a moment and added, “Can I have a cookie? They’re in the kitchen. I can smell ‘em.”

“Ask Dressa,” Neal advised. Then he stood up and it seemed like time started again for the others who belonged here. The child blinked and then rushed over to his grandmother, whispering his wish for a cookie. She surreptitiously wiped away the tracks of the boy’s tears before his father could notice, and then led him to the kitchen with a suspicious brightness of tears in her own eyes.

“Do you remember that?” Neal asked as he walked back over to Henry, El and Peter. “As a dream?”

Henry shook his head.

“Oh,” said Elizabeth. “I thought you understood. These children we’re seeing, they aren’t you.”

“Of course they’re us,” said Henry. “I remember all of this, except the part about Neal talking to me just now.”

The room faded to white again, and as Elizabeth read the next formula Peter explained, “This is a universe very similar to yours. The point is for you to see these younger versions of you having the exact experiences you remember, so that when you see them in the present and future, you’ll understand how close you came to their fate.”

“What fate?” Neal asked, but Elizabeth shushed him as a room materialized around them. Neal’s boyhood living room looked small and paltry compared to his grandparents’. The Christmas tree was barely his mother’s height, and she was wrapping Christmas lights around it. A radio played carols and she hummed along, although it turned into a groan when the lights tangled.

Four-year-old Neal was draping tinsel on the branches with the solemnity of someone entrusted with a vital task. Suddenly he said, “Susan has grandparents. That’s where she’s going for Christmas.”

Meredith didn’t look away from the knot she was unraveling. “Mm-hmm.”

“I want grandparents.”

Meredith looked longingly at a can of beer on the kitchen counter, but her hands were full with the lights. “You had grandparents. They’re gone now.”

Little Neal reached up on tiptoe to put tinsel on a higher branch. “I dreamed I had grandparents. They had a big tree, with lots of red, and a fireplace, and the stockings were white and gold, and there was snow, and a sled, and a big brother to play with, and —”

“Enough,” Meredith snapped.

Henry said, “You remembered us, too.”

“Yeah,” Neal said, “but that was dangerous, in WITSEC. She had to tell me to stop talking about it and forget that dream.”

“You were in WITSEC?” El asked, her eyes wide in shock.

Neal nodded as he walked across the room. He was pleased that he could pick up the beer, and when Meredith’s back was turned he emptied it and tossed the can in the trash.

Meanwhile Henry put a hand gingerly on the little boy’s. Meredith seemed frozen in place as the boy looked at him. “Need help reaching the high spots?” Henry asked, and with the boy’s acquiescence, Henry lifted him up and they decorated the top of the tree.

“Are you Santa?” the boy asked.

“Nah, I’m just an elf. Santa heard you want grandparents. He’s more into delivering toys, you know?”

“I know,” the boy said sadly. “Mom already told me he can’t bring Dad back, either.”

Henry placed the boy back down on the floor, and put his hand under a small, trembling chin. “When I’m sad, cookies make me feel better. How about you?”

The boy nodded.

“I’ve heard your mom is really good at baking cookies. Has she made any recently?”

“No.”

“Have you asked her to?”

“No.”

Henry patted him on the back. “Give it a try. I’ll keep watch and suggest something else if that doesn’t work.”

When he removed his hand and stepped back, the boy blinked in confusion, but looked up and saw tinsel much higher than he could have reached on his own. “Mom! I wanna make Christmas cookies.”

Meredith tucked the last light into place and said, “You’re right, we haven’t done that yet. That was always one of my favorite parts of Christmas. Let’s see if we have enough flour.”

The pair scrounged through the kitchen and found the ingredients for shortbread cookies and icing. Soon Meredith was smiling and Neal was joyfully rushing around the kitchen as she assigned him tasks. Since he couldn’t reach the counter, she had him pulling supplies out of the lower cabinets, and adding “magic” by hopping on one foot, spinning in circles, and then singing a verse of a Christmas carol in French.

“I remember the Christmas I was five,” Henry said. “The last Christmas before you left, she had us both hopping around the kitchen while she cooked. I hoped she was still enough of that person to do it again with you.”

“You gave that version of me a new set of happy memories,” adult Neal told Henry. “Thanks.”

 

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

“It’s like walking through the wardrobe into Narnia,” said Elizabeth Burke as they found themselves outside her in-laws’ mountain cabin.

“You have those stories, too?” Neal Carter asked. “Mozzie usually prefers science fiction and time travel metaphors, but I agree with you. These visits do have a fantasy element to them.”

“It feels more like _Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy_ to me,” Peter said. “Traveling in our pajamas like Arthur Dent.” Seeing Neal’s blank look he said, “You’ve got to wait a few years before you can read those stories, assuming they exist in your universe.”

El gave Peter a sympathetic look. She knew that without his normal clothes, not to mention his badge and gun, he felt too exposed. Even in this familiar setting, he would want to be better prepared to protect El and Neal.

He’d referenced a science-fiction story, but El still felt they were experiencing something from the fantasy genre. Although the ground, trees and roof of the cabin were draped in snow, she didn’t feel the cold. That in itself was fantastical, and looking through the windows, the interior looked magical. A Christmas tree was decorated with a variety of homemade ornaments, from the snowflakes Peter’s grandmother crocheted to painted wooden ornaments Peter and his brother made with their father’s supervision. Currently Luke was guiding Peter and Joe in constructing two family gifts. An eight-year-old Peter was building a slightly lopsided birdhouse that El recognized from her in-laws’ backyard. Ten years older than Peter, big brother Joe was attaching runners to a sled.

Neal’s wistful look as he gazed at the scene had El squeezing his hand. He looked at her questioningly and she said, “They seem like a Norman Rockwell painting come to life, don’t they?”

“We always did projects like that after opening the other gifts,” Peter said, and El noticed that Betty was picking up the discarded wrapping paper and bows while the boys worked.

Betty winked at Luke, who brought their sons’ attention to himself while she reached under a sofa and pulled out a long, skinny present that hadn’t been unwrapped yet. She stood with it in her hands and said something that had everyone looking in her direction.

Little Peter ran over to his mother and El giggled. “Footy pajamas. I wish I’d brought a camera. Why haven’t I seen any pictures of you in pajamas with…” she moved closer to the window. “Dinosaurs on them?”

By now the boy had unwrapped a set of child-sized skis. “I remember this,” said adult Peter. “This is the Christmas Mom and Dad took me cross-country skiing for the first time.”

Betty hugged her youngest and then pointed to the stairs. He almost flew up them.

“What’s he — you —” El corrected, “doing now?”

“Changing into something appropriate for trying out those skis,” Peter said.

Inside, Joe was shaking his head, gesturing toward the sled.

“Joe doesn’t go with you?” El asked.

“No, he had something else up his sleeve.” Peter looked away from the cabin, in the direction they’d arrived from. “Okay, you’ve proven you can take us back to the past. Can we move on?”

El wanted to linger and keep watching, and glanced at her husband in surprise.

Peter mumbled something about Bigfoot.

“Oh.” El grinned. “That was _this_ Christmas?”

“What’s Bigfoot?” Neal Carter asked.

“You haven’t heard of him?” Peter asked. When Neal shook his head, Peter said, “What about Sasquatch?” When it became clear Neal had never heard of the creature, Peter described it.

Neal pulled a pen and small pad of paper out of his shirt pocket and started jotting notes. “You have monsters in your world, too? Do others see them, or only you?”

“This isn’t like your experiences,” El explained. “Bigfoot is widely believed to be a hoax. While Peter’s out skiing with his family, Joe will run off to a nearby cave to make it look like the creature is living there, complete with massive footprints he’ll make with foam cut into the shape he wanted. For his little brother, it will seem like a grand adventure to follow the clues. It’s like… Like seeing the Loch Ness monster,” she said, hoping that would ring a chord, but again Neal shook his head. It seemed he hadn’t heard of Nessie, either.

“You have myths of monsters, but not the real thing?” Neal asked, trying to understand.

“Well…” Peter paused. Interactions with the Winchester brothers this year had changed some of his assumptions on that score. “There are people who believe demons and vampires and so forth are real. I’ve even met people who hunt that kind of monster for a living. But we don’t have ghasts and the other types of creatures you’ve encountered. All of the monsters I’ve heard of are from our own world, not visiting from other universes.”

Neal was about to ask another question when Luke, Betty and Peter rushed out of the cabin, carrying their skis and laughing. A Siberian Husky ran after them.

“Is that Ada?” El asked. She’d heard stories about Peter’s boyhood dog.

“That’s right. Named for Ada Lovelace.” Peter looked at Neal and explained, “My mother was a science teacher, and she insisted that pets have names with historical significance.”

“I’ve heard of Ms. Lovelace,” Neal said.

Peter walked up to one of the big windows and looked inside. Joe was about to stand up when a Siamese cat sauntered over and rubbed against his legs. “Ming, that traitor!” Peter said. “I knew she liked Joe better, but he always denied it.”

El joined him at the window and noticed a holiday cardigan hanging on a hook by the front door. “I didn’t realize your mother had two of that sweater with the reindeer on it.”

“No, just the one. It’s lasted forever because she only wears it on Christmas Day.”

“Are you sure? The one I’ve seen her wear is royal blue, but this one looks black. Or maybe navy blue. But it’s definitely not the bright blue I remember.”

Peter followed her gaze to the cardigan. “I’ve never seen that. Neal, what’s going on here? Has something changed the past?”

“This isn’t your past. It’s another universe, very similar to yours but different in a few significant ways.” Neal checked his watch. “I know you have questions, and I promise you’ll have answers by the time we’re done. We need to get going or we’ll be late.”

“You remind me of the White Rabbit from _Alice in Wonderland_ ,” said El as she took his hand again.

“What’s next?” asked Peter. “And how long until we get those answers?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that they’ve experienced Christmas past, they’ll visit Christmas present in the next chapter, to be posted in about a week.
> 
> Thanks to Silbrith for being an amazingly fast and detailed beta editor. Thanks to everyone for reading!


	3. Christmas Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Neal of the Caffrey Conversation AU visit Christmas Present. It's December 2005 as their canon selves might have experienced it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mozzie seems to be using a combination of science and magic to navigate to alternate realities, but of course we know Alternate Universes as a fan fiction concept. I couldn’t resist the opportunity to include a shoutout in this chapter to a few of the types of AUs I’ve seen in White Collar fanfic. Some of the readers of our series also write in the AUs I mention at the end of this chapter, and I hope you’re feeling our love!
> 
> If you’re new to the series or if you want a refresher, here’s some background info to help you follow along in this chapter:  
> \- In Caffrey Conversation (first story in this series) Neal goes to St. Louis as a replacement for Mozzie in a museum heist in December 2003. Peter goes undercover in the same heist, pretending to be the client who commissioned the theft. He’s impressed with Neal and recruits him to join the White Collar team.  
> \- In Caffrey Aloha, the Burkes, Caffreys and some Winslows gather in Hawaii over Christmas for the wedding of Noelle Caffrey Winslow (Henry’s mother) to Joe Burke (Peter’s brother).  
> \- Winston-Winslow (Win-Win) is a private investigation & security company founded by Henry’s great-grandfather. Robert Winslow is Henry’s father and was a villain in the stories Caffrey Flashback and Caffrey Disclosure. Henry’s grandfather wanted Henry to take over as CEO instead of Robert getting the job, and Robert was violently angry about that. Also, Robert is the person who convinced Neal to forge the Atlantic bonds, which were the basis of Neal’s conviction in canon.  
> \- Agent Hitchum appeared in the early stories of this AU as a bully who hated Neal.

**Chemistry Lab, Derleth Hall, Miskatonic University, Arkham MA. 1975.**

When they left Christmas Past there was a blinding flash of light, and Peter wondered why sometimes they experienced the flash when traveling, but other times had a gradual fade from a white expanse.

As his eyes cleared, at first he thought he was seeing double. Two Joneses, two Dianas.

Two Mozzies? Peter groaned. El squeezed his hand and gave him a sympathetic look.

They were all standing in a chemistry lab with 1970s era equipment. Peter made a mental note to tell Diana her descriptions were excellent. This place looked exactly like the lab she’d described in her Arkham Files stories.

Their guide to Christmas Past, a younger version of the Neal they knew, handed the Arkham Mozzie a sheet of paper. “We went where and when you expected. No glitches, but they have questions.” He crossed his arms. “I do, too.”

Arkham Mozzie, in his garish attire, nodded approvingly. “An inquiring mind is a good sign. It will certainly aid in your career.” He placed the sheet of paper in a folder and then peered through a microscope.

“I want answers,” Arkham Neal insisted. “From you.”

“Now,” Peter added. “What’s with this Dickensian approach of yours? Why send us to see a near-perfect match to one of my childhood Christmases?”

Ignoring their questions, New York Mozzie said, “The others were supposed to be here by now. We had a very precise schedule.” He sounded worried.

Peter’s stomach clenched. “Are Henry and Neal — my Neal — in danger?”

Arkham Mozzie looked up and finally acknowledged Peter. “In danger of upsetting a plan that has been months in the making. They had more stops, but they weren’t supposed to linger. I shall instruct the next set of guides to…” he trailed off as another bright flash of light appeared.

This time the scene didn’t change, from Peter’s perspective, but he found himself gawking at NYC Neal, his cousin Henry, with an Arkham version of El and himself. He’d been too concerned for Neal and curious about Mozzie’s plan to consider that he might meet himself. He took a step forward and then paused, unsure what he should say to a parallel self who’d become a professor of archaeology.

Arkham Peter had done the same, and now they stared at each other. Arkham Elizabeth waved, and El waved back. They led their husbands forward, but barely had time to shake hands before NYC Mozzie bustled in. “You’re late,” he told the new arrivals. “What happened?”

Arkham El said, “They interacted with themselves in the alternate universes, and that added time to each visit.”

“You can do that?” Peter asked.

Arkham Peter nodded. “If you touch someone in the alternate universe, they can perceive you but will later remember the encounter as something ephemeral, like a daydream.”

“But we don’t have to touch you to interact now,” El said. “Is it something to do with the way we arrived — the flash of light?”

“Different types of universes plus different types of connections between them, means different restrictions,” Arkham Mozzie said. “There isn’t time to explain. What they’ve done drains my resources. I’ll need to adjust the plan for the Christmas Present phase.” He scurried back to a table where he scribbled notes.

Peter turned to his counterpart and said, “I don’t believe you agreed to hopping around between universes without knowing the goal of all this. Let’s hear it.”

Arkham Peter chuckled and it sounded odd, the way hearing a recording of yourself seemed weird. “Universe-hopping has become increasingly common around here, due to the interest creatures and people of other worlds have in Neal. This sounded like a trip to an amusement park in comparison.”

“And I wanted a chance to experience what it’s like,” Arkham El added.

El nodded, so it seemed that in both universes Elizabeth wasn’t satisfied with simply hearing about her husband’s adventures. She wanted to be hands-on sometimes. “Why does Mozzie want us to witness this version of ourselves?” she asked.

Arkham Peter said, “He claims it’s because they’re an extremely similar version of you who took a different direction about two years ago in your timeline, and he thought you needed to see the results of that.” He shrugged. “Our Mozzie had a theory that he could send others to a time and place of his choosing, and I think he’s been yearning for a chance to prove it.”

Arkham Elizabeth added, “Your version of Mozzie seemed obsessed with following a specific what-if scenario. He was surprised at the results, and felt he had a duty to show you. He hasn’t told us what his findings were, only that they were significant.” She paused. “And like our Mozzie, it seems yours also wants to show off.”

“He’s like Doc Brown,” Henry said. He and both Neals had gathered around. “Remember _Back to the Future II_? Well, I know the Arkham people won’t, because the movies were from the 1980s,” he explained in an aside to them. “But in the second movie Doc returns from a visit to the future and decides Marty needs to see what’s happening there and fix it. That’s my theory of what Mozzie is up to.”

“Are we supposed to fix the alternate world’s future,” Neal asked, “or simply avoid that future ourselves?”

Arkham Neal shook his head. “Our Mozzie hasn’t told us, but he was convinced that we should participate.”

“What’s up with Jones?” NYC Neal asked. The Dianas, Joneses and Mozzies were conferring on the other side of the lab. Both of the Jones seemed almost transparent.

“Do you think it’s because he didn’t drink the wine?” El asked, but Peter didn’t have time to answer. The Mozzies rushed over to initiate Phase Two: Christmas Present.

Peter tried to protest that he wanted more answers. One of the Mozzies muttered assurances that everyone would gather back in the lab again on their way to Christmas Future.

 

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Mozzie had pushed Neal and Henry in the direction of Diana Briscoe, an Arkham police detective. Neal glanced from her to the Agent Diana Berrigan he knew and raised a brow.

“Not a word,” warned NYC Diana.

“C’mon,” he insisted. “You know I’ve wanted to see what you looked like with an Afro ever since you wrote that your Arkham self styles her hair that way.”

“Something wrong with an Afro?” asked the 1970s Arkham version of Diana.

“No, it looks great,” Neal assured her, and not just because she was equally as intimidating as her 2005 self.

The Arkham version of Mozzie handed the Arkham Diana a sheet of paper. “It’s a shorter list. We’re going to be depleted sooner than I thought, so you’ll make only one stop in Christmas Present.”

“Hawaii, here we come!” said Henry. “Mom’s wedding, and my stellar performance as a rock star. Christmas 2004 was awesome.”

“You weren’t the only rock star,” Neal reminded him. He was looking forward to revisiting those memories, too. Singing on the beach had been one of many great moments last year.

“That’s Christmas Past,” said an impatient Arkham Diana. “You’re from December 2005. That’s your Christmas Present.”

“No, that’s our future,” Henry said.

“Less than two weeks away versus fifty weeks in the past. Obviously we’re going to Christmas 2005.”

Mozzie nodded and gave her a push. “Hurry!”

She grabbed Neal’s hand and he took Henry’s. Then a bright flash of light blinded them again.

“Back in D.C.” Neal predicted, expecting to see his grandparents’ home again. “If we see what we’re getting for presents, we’ll have to act surprised when we open them for real in…” He trailed off as it became apparent they weren’t where he’d expected. They were standing outside a prison cell. A dark-haired figure in an orange jumpsuit sat at a tiny metal desk. “It can’t be.”

“It’s you,” said Henry. “Did we hit the wrong year? Is this when you were arrested in Vegas?”

“No,” Neal said, feeling dazed. “That was just a holding cell. I wasn’t… I never had the prison uniform. This is wrong.”

Diana laid a hand on his back and said, “Slow, steady breaths.”

“Did you know?” Henry asked accusingly. “You couldn’t have warned us this universe’s Neal spends Christmas in prison?”

“Mozzie didn’t want anyone else to know. He didn’t even tell the Gilmans, because he thought Peter and Elizabeth would be too upset. He chose me to guide you here because he thought a cop would be the most comfortable with this setting.”

Guards walked down the corridor, stepping around the three of them. “I thought they couldn’t see us,” Neal said, avoiding looking at himself in the cell.

“Not consciously,” Diana said.

The Neal in the cell had been drawing, but now he pushed the paper away impatiently. He stood and ran his hands through his hair as he paced the small space. Henry reached through the bars and grabbed Neal’s arm. The prisoner stared at him in shock. “Henry! You… Are you a ghost?”

Henry squeezed his arm. “Do I feel like a ghost?”

“No, but… What are you doing here?” Neal glanced down the corridor, clearly expecting a guard to start yelling, but those guards were frozen in place. “I haven’t seen you since autumn of 2003. You went back to Baltimore and had something going on you wouldn’t talk about. I was gonna have Mozzie look into whether your dad had coerced you into working for Win-Win, but then I heard the reports of the boating accident. They never found your body, but you were presumed dead. Did you fake your death?” He shook his head. “I wish I’d known. I have some experience with that. I could’ve helped.”

“Enough about me,” Henry insisted. “What happened to you? Why didn’t you take Peter’s deal?”

“Peter… You mean Agent Burke?” Neal asked. “He didn’t offer any deal. The prosecutor said she’d guarantee a short sentence if I pled guilty, but I decided to take my chances with a jury. They found me guilty of the bond forgeries, but the FBI couldn’t prove anything else. It’s a four-year sentence, due to end in 2009.”

“What about St. Louis?” Henry asked. “In December 2003, you went there in Mozzie’s place for a museum heist and ran into Peter Burke. At least, you were supposed to.”

“Are you kidding? That job was cancelled when the client was arrested. Mozz called me about an hour after my flight landed. Anyway, Burke wouldn’t have been there. He’s based in New York.”

The Neal standing in the corridor was frozen in shock. Peter in this universe hadn’t been sent to St. Louis to impersonate the client he resembled. He hadn’t been there to be impressed with Neal’s skills, so Peter hadn’t offered immunity and a job in return for a confession.

Neal stared at this vision of himself in a prison uniform. They were the same age, but his imprisoned self was a little paler and thinner. There were no windows, and he couldn’t tell the time of day. The only clue that it was Christmas was a card sitting on the desk. The picture on the front was Raphael’s _Sistine Madonna_. “It’s from Kate,” he said hoarsely. “The card.”

Henry glanced at the table and asked the prisoner, “Who’s the card from?”

“Kate,” said the prisoner, sounding a little desperate. “She’s my only visitor. Mozzie won’t come near a prison. Same for my former colleagues, and you… Well, I’m still not clear whether you’re alive or a vivid dream.”

“But…” Henry glanced back at Neal. “Our family…”

He turned his attention back to the cell when the prisoner said, “Only your dad knows who I am, and he wouldn’t tell anyone else. He’s not going to admit to a jailbird in the family.”

Out in the corridor Neal shook his head as he tried to clear his thoughts. Two years ago he hadn’t yet connected with his extended Caffrey family and it had taken a considerable effort on Henry’s part to convince him that he should meet them. Now he couldn’t imagine not having them in his life. And not having Peter and El as friends, that was unthinkable.

The loneliness of the prisoner was palpable.

_This might have been me,_ he thought.

“Deep breaths,” Diana said again. Then to Henry she added, “Wrap it up. We don’t have much time.”

The look he gave in their direction was a little wild-eyed, but he kept it together enough to tell the prisoner, “Stay in touch with Peter Burke if you can. He’s a good guy.”

The prisoner shrugged. “I sent him a Christmas card. Tweaking his tail is kinda my only hobby now, except when I can get art supplies.”

Diana grabbed Henry’s nearest hand and Neal’s and pulled them away.

“No, wait!” Henry protested. As he broke contact, the prisoner looked confused.

“What happens to him?” Neal asked.

“That’s what Christmas Future will reveal,” Diana promised. “Mozzie hasn’t told me.”

The visit itself would have been disturbing enough, but there was something else bothering Neal. “I remember this,” he told Henry. “When I told you I had strange memories and dreams recently, being in prison was part of it.”

“Time travel makes you remember the future?” Diana suggested.

“Mozzie has a lot to answer for,” Henry said. “Why send us here if we don’t have the time and resources to do anything to help?”

 

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

As Peter waited for the scene to become clear around them he asked Jones, “Did Mozzie ask you to drink a strange wine this evening?”

“Yeah,” the Arkham police officer version of Jones confirmed. “Everyone else managed to choke it down. I got through half and poured the rest down the sink when he wasn’t looking.”

“I wonder if that’s why you’re flickering,” El said.

“That’s what you see?” Jones asked. “To me, everyone from your universe is flickering. Half the time you’re in black-and-white.”

“That might be for the best.” Peter gestured at his pajamas. “My in-laws go for bright colors when picking gifts for us.”

“Peter, it’s your parents’ house,” El said.

He focused on the room around them. The living room was decorated in blue and silver, with a tree beside the fireplace. The family was gathered around the dining room table, the meal nearly over. At first glance, nothing seemed different in this universe other than the color of his mother’s reindeer sweater. Peter’s parents looked exactly as they did in 2005 in his universe. He and El looked the same, too, as did his brother Joe and his nieces.

“Where’s Noelle?” El asked as they watched the diners.

There wasn’t an empty chair at the table. Peter walked closer and saw that Joe wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. Somehow in this universe he hadn’t married Neal’s aunt in Hawaii last Christmas.

“He actually sent you a Christmas card from prison?” Peter’s mother asked.

The Peter at the table nodded at Betty. “Sent one for my birthday, too.” He took in her worried expression and added, “He’s just yanking my chain, Mom. I promise he’s not going to stalk me when he gets out of prison. Neal Caffrey’s a con artist and a thief. He’s a menace, but he isn’t dangerous.”

“You’re sure?” she asked.

“He’s sure,” Elizabeth said. “No one’s as thorough as Peter when it comes to investigating criminals. He probably knows Neal’s shoe size.”

At the table, Peter winced. He covered by reaching for another roll and saying, “Oddly enough, I could never find anything about Caffrey before he turned eighteen. I always wondered what kind of background made a kid with his intelligence and talents turn to a life of crime, but that’s a mystery I couldn’t solve.”

“Can you tell us about one of your current cases?” asked Viola. She was Joe’s youngest daughter, a college sophomore.

“No. Sorry, but we’re not supposed to discuss current investigations.”

“Did you work on the Winston-Winslow case?” Joe asked.

“I wish,” Peter said. “I’d heard about that place when I was going through my training at Quantico. The stories about Win-Win were hard to believe, but they had amazing success as a private investigation company until last year. The CEO resigned after his grandson died, saying he didn’t have the heart to continue, and in fact he died of a heart attack a few months later. In his absence there was a struggle for power, and shortly after Robert Winslow took over, the company was on our radar for a laundry list of issues. It ranged from tax fraud to blackmail. I volunteered to go to Baltimore to help, but my boss said I needed to stay in Manhattan with my team. We sent Agent Hitchum instead.”

Luke looked around the table and said, “Looks like everyone’s done. You know what that means. The cooks get to take a walk, and the rest of us get to do the dishes.”

“What about us?” Rosalind asked. She was two years older than Viola. “We helped set the table.”

Luke looked across the table at his wife. “What do you think?”

“It was a lot to carry,” Betty said. “I think they might be excused from clean-up duty if they want to go downstairs and play some music.”

Standing in the living room, observers Peter and El stepped in opposite directions. “You want to follow yourself while I join the guys in the kitchen?” Peter asked.

She nodded. “There’s something wrong. I love your family and Christmas, but I didn’t look happy to be here. I want to find out what’s going on.”

“Yeah, me too.” Peter said. “I think Dad has something he wants to tell me, and maybe that will explain why you and I were barely even looking at each other.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

As Elizabeth and her mother-in-law took a walk through a wooded area, Labradors Satchmo and Barclay ran along, chasing each other.

Betty picked up a stick and threw it as far as she could. Before she could say “Fetch,” both dogs were already running full speed after it. “Elizabeth,” she said, “my experience being a mom and a school teacher has taught me the virtues of patience, but even I have my limits. You’re not going to have a better opportunity to tell me what’s going on with you and Peter. Let’s hear it.”

El shivered and said, “He loves his job more than me.” She wasn’t wearing gloves, and she slipped her hands into her pockets. “You know, he spent the better part of a year chasing that guy we were talking about — Neal Caffrey. He obsessed over details about a criminal’s life and activities.”

“Like his shoe size?” Betty prompted. “I saw the face Peter made when you mentioned that.”

“Peter gave me a pair of shoes for my birthday, and they were the wrong size!” The dogs had run back with the stick but shied away when she raised her voice. “Sorry, Satchmo.” She rubbed his ears and said, “Good boy,” before throwing the stick for them again. “He was absolutely clueless about what to get me for Christmas. He pretty much told me to buy whatever I want or to give him a shopping list. It’s like he has no idea what my interests are, and doesn’t care enough to find out. It makes me want to commit a white collar crime so he’ll spend time thinking about me again. Ever since he got the job as the leader of the White Collar team, he gets home late almost every night and doesn’t even bother to apologize for missing dinner anymore. He won’t talk about his job and doesn’t ask me about my event planning business now that it’s off the ground. Most evenings we just sit in silence watching TV. Some days I talk to Satchmo more than I do to my husband!”

“Have you confronted him about it?”

“I’m afraid he’ll say he’s happy with the status quo.”

Betty paused as her black Lab returned with the stick, and she threw it again. Then she asked, “Do you still love Peter?”

“If I didn’t care about him anymore, this wouldn’t bother me so much.” She shivered again. “Is this how the breakup started between Joe and his wife?”

“That wasn’t their issue. If she was ever in love with him, it was a fleeting emotion at best. When she left Joe, I stayed to the side, but things for you and Peter are different. I’m going to think this over and assign you both some homework before you go back to the city.”

 

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

“It’s like I don’t even know my own wife,” Peter said as he dried the last of the special Christmas dishes that his mother felt should be washed by hand.

His older brother Joe took the plate from him and put it in the cabinet. “Because she’s changed, or because you’re out of touch?”

“Out of touch so much I couldn’t say if she’s changed. I mean, we’ve been married six years and we don’t live in a vacuum. I’m a team leader now; she opened Burke Premiere Events. We’ve probably both changed to some extent.”

Luke had been quiet through much of the conversation, but when the front door opened and the Labradors rushed in followed by Betty and Elizabeth, he surprised everyone by saying, “Let’s go down to the basement and see if the girls will let us use the stereo for a bit. There’s a song I want you to hear.”

Joe’s daughters were curious to learn what song their grandfather suddenly wanted to play for everyone, and they listened intently as he explained it was a country song he’d first heard ten years ago.

“Sounded appropriate for a carpenter like me,” he said as he pulled the CD out of a storage unit he’d built. “But it’s also something Peter and El need to think about.” As he put the CD into the player Luke told them that the singer was Radney Foster, and the song he’d selected was called “Hammer and Nails.”

Unobserved in the back of the room, the visiting Peter took El’s hand as they listened to lyrics about the need to work on a relationship to build it up. “What happened to that version of us, that we fell out of touch so badly?”

“That version of you arrested Neal,” El said. “In our reality, you helped him. Not only that, but you pulled me into helping him, and that resulted in us talking more about your cases, usually in the context of things you needed to teach Neal or the ways in which he surprised you. Honestly, two years ago I was starting to feel frustrated at how little you would tell me about your work, and having Neal as a friend turned that around.”

“Remind me to thank him.” Peter watched as the alternate versions of themselves also reached out to hold hands. “Do you think they have a chance?”

“If they love each other as much as we do, they’ll work through this.”

After the song ended, this world’s Peter thanked his father for making them listen to it. El nodded her agreement.

“As I mentioned to Elizabeth on our walk, I have a homework assignment for the two of you,” Betty said. “You must spend at least half an hour each day talking to each other, and listening. You’ll take turns. The first day, Elizabeth, you’ll tell Peter what you’ve been doing, or what’s on your mind. Peter, you’ll pay attention and ask questions to show you’re following along and care what your wife is telling you. Then the next day you’ll reverse roles. That means Peter, you need to think of something you can tell Elizabeth about your work.”

“But the cases —” Peter interjected.

“If they need to stay secret, so be it. But you have an office full of people with the quirks and eccentricities that all of us have. You surely interact with a variety of interesting people as you investigate cases. There has to be _something_ you can share. If you care about your marriage, you’ll make the effort.” Turning to Elizabeth, Betty added, “And I expect you to remind Peter to talk to you. Don’t just sit in silence and let him think that you don’t mind, or that’s what you want.”

Jones had disappeared from view for a while, but now he returned as a flicker in the corner and said, “We need to get back to Arkham.”

“We should thank your mother, too,” El said as they moved toward Jones. “She had good advice.”

Peter nodded. “That was the positive part of this visit. But I’m disappointed to learn in this universe Neal went to prison. Why didn’t he take the deal I offered in St. Louis?”

“Let’s ask him,” El suggested. “Maybe he found out in his trip to Christmas Present.”

Stopping in his tracks, Peter said, “He’s probably visiting himself in prison right now. What a shock that must have been. Hurry it up, Jones. We need to get back to Arkham and make sure Neal’s okay.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

This time Neal and Henry arrived in Arkham ahead of the Burkes.

Both Mozzies rushed over. Arkham Neal, Peter and El, and NYC Diana followed more slowly, still talking about something.

“You saw the prison?” NYC Mozzie asked.

Henry lunged toward Mozzie, but Arkham Diana restrained him, with NYC Diana joining her. “Calm down,” one of the Dianas said. Neal couldn’t be sure which one, since they sounded alike.

Neal put a hand on his cousin’s back in what he hoped was a soothing manner and said, “Let’s talk it over first.”

“Prison?” repeated Arkham Peter, with a glance toward Arkham Neal.

Arkham Neal looked anxious. “I used to worry I’d be committed to a psychiatric hospital because of my weird visions. Is that what happened to you?”

Neal shook his head. Usually he had a con artist’s smooth tongue, but now he struggled for the right words. “Peter arrested me. He didn’t offer the deal I have now. He just… he just sent me to prison, and I was…” He swallowed. “I was so alone. Does it drive me crazy?” he asked Mozzie.

Henry tried lunging forward again, and Neal grabbed hold of his shirt while the Dianas tightened their grips on his arms. “Let me at him!” Henry insisted.

“Cool it!” Arkham Diana ordered. She glanced toward the Mozzies and said, “I get now why you picked me for this visit, but how about you make my job easier and start explaining things?”

NYC Mozzie nodded. “I used to think that my Neal was crazy, working with the Suits and even befriending them. I thought if I could find a version of him who didn’t meet Peter in St. Louis and take that deal for immunity, I could show Neal his true destiny. I imagined a glorious crime spree, a fortune in art and jewels, perhaps folk songs written about us… But I was wrong. So incredibly wrong, I needed you to see for yourself how bad it would be if you weren’t the friends you are now.”

“Finally!” That was Peter’s voice. He and El had returned in a flash of light before Mozzie’s explanation. “I appreciate the point of the lesson, but couldn’t you have simply taken pictures or a video or something and told us what you learned?”

“Would you have believed I traveled across universes if you hadn’t experienced it yourselves?” Mozzie countered.

Neal could feel Henry relax, and the Dianas let him go. “But we have to go back, right?” Henry said. “We have to make things better for the Neal of that universe. We can’t leave him in prison like that.”

“It isn’t that easy,” Arkham Mozzie said. “Our interactions quickly fade in the memories of those we visit. Convincing them to take another path is nearly impossible in those circumstances. My own experiments have shown me that.”

Neal crossed his arms. “Did those experiments involve visiting us recently in our universe, leaving odd dream-like memories of your attempts to influence us?”

Arkham Mozzie cleared his throat. “I may have attempted to affect your decisions in small matters, such as which shirt to wear, or what to eat for breakfast. My failures showed me that each universe resists change from external elements.”

NYC Mozzie added, “And I attempted to bring the Neal and Peter of that universe to visit you to tell their stories, but you forgot as soon as they left.”

The Arkham Peter and El stepped over to Henry, who looked particularly dejected. “How about another brownie?” Arkham El suggested.

Henry glanced at Neal, who nodded. “What the hell. Bring me back one, too,” Neal said.

“I’ll take one, if there’s any left,” Arkham Neal added.

“We really can’t help the version of me in that other universe?” Neal asked NYC Mozzie when Henry had left the room.

“Unfortunately, we can only learn from him,” Mozzie said. “If it’s any comfort, there are many variations of you in alternate realities, and they don’t all suffer his fate.”

NYC Diana chuckled. “While we were waiting, Mozzie told us there are versions of you with wings. Like an angel, if you can believe it. And in one alternate universe you’re a spy named Bryce.”

“There’s an astounding array of what I call _White Collar AUs_ ,” Mozzie added. “In a surprising number of them, Neal and Peter have a romantic or sexual relationship.”

“Excuse me?” said Peter.

“No way,” said Neal.

“But I’m married,” Peter added.

“Not in every AU. And in some instances, El is part of the relationship,” Mozzie smirked at Elizabeth, who was staring at him in shock.

NYC Diana raised a brow. “That could be an interesting direction to take Arkham Files.”

“No way,” Neal repeated. “Not after all the work we’ve done…” He trailed off, unsure how Arkham Neal felt about the direction the Arkham Files was taking with his love life. Instead he said, “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, Peter, but I’m not attracted to you.” Looking in the direction Arkham Peter had gone he added, “Neither of you.”

“Ditto,” said Arkham Neal, who looked distinctly uncomfortable.

Peter put an arm around El, who said, “As a matter of fact, in our Christmas Present we were advised to focus more on our marriage. We’re not interested in adding someone else to that relationship. And honestly Neal, I think of you as a little brother. Or brothers, now.”

Neal looked at the Mozzies. “Tell me your plans for Christmas Future won’t take us to one of those other AUs you mentioned.”

Arkham Mozzie said, “Alas, there isn’t time. The wine that expanded your minds for visiting other universes  and lets you remember what you’ve seen won’t let us continue for much longer. We’ll stick with the universe we’ve been visiting.”

“But we got the point,” Peter objected. “We’ve seen that it’s best for Neal to work for White Collar and be friends with my team. Why go to Christmas Future to reinforce what we already know?”

NYC Mozzie opened his mouth, probably intending to make a cryptic comment, but another flash of light interrupted him.

Seemingly unaffected by the brightness, Lavinia strode forward, bringing the NYC and Arkham versions of June with her.

Both Mozzies took a step backward. Arkham Mozzie said, “Lavinia. Such a delight to see you. I thought you’d decided not to join us.”

“I’ve been watching,” she said, her deep voice making the words even more ominous. “What you’ve set in motion must be completed, and then there will be a reckoning.”

Her warning lost some of its impact because June’s Pug Bugsy trotted into the room as she spoke, followed by Satchmo. The animals scampered around, demanding belly rubs and ear scratches.

Adding to the cheerful chaos, Henry returned with the Arkham Peter and El, carrying a plate of brownies. “What did I miss?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas to those who celebrate, and a Happy Hanukkah to our Jewish friends! Today on our Penna and Silbrith Conversation blog on blogspot, I posted about the appeal of writing holiday stories. And visit the Caffrey Christmas Carol Pinterest board for visuals for this story – you can find the Hammer and Nails song there, too.
> 
> The line about knowing Neal’s shoe size came from the pilot episode, as did the idea of Peter not knowing what El would want as a gift. In the pilot they were talking about the Burkes’ wedding anniversary. My thanks to Silbrith for suggesting that in 2005 the canon version of Peter and El might have hit a rough patch in their marriage, which of course they overcame before the pilot. Silbrith also deserves thanks for last-minute edits and for helping me keep this story in sync with her upcoming plots.
> 
> I forgot to mention in the chapter 1 notes that the writing group’s stuffed animals might be based on something Silbrith and I use. :) 
> 
> If you’d like to know more about the Arkham versions of the White Collar characters and their setting, be sure to read The Locked Room, which Silbrith is publishing now. Her next chapter will be posted in a few days.  
> The Christmas Future chapter of this story will be posted in about a week. Thanks for taking the time to read, and I’m loving your comments!


	4. Christmas Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Neal visit Christmas Future, landing them in canon season 5.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for spoilers through season five. For the purposes of this chapter I’m taking pieces of the fifth season and combining them in a scene set at Christmas.
> 
> Fixed a couple of typos, and added a little more humor in the canon scenes. What can I say? Season 5 was dark, but this is a holiday story, so I agreed to give the characters a chance to kid around. It’s still angsty, though.

**Chemistry Lab, Derleth Hall, Miskatonic University, Arkham MA. 1975.**

The lab was filled with people. They were talking, playing with Satchmo and Bugsy, and reaching for the plate of brownies that Henry had carried in.

Dressed in a loden-green blouse and coordinating tweed skirt, Lavinia held a carpet bag in one hand, and a massive umbrella in the other. The umbrella was probably plain black when unfurled, but it was certainly not boring. The handle had a gnarled, natural shape rather than a smooth curve, and was made of a type of wood Peter didn’t recognize. He supposed he should be reminded of Mary Poppins, but instead she brought to mind thoughts of Gandalf. There was an otherworldliness and sense of power to this woman, making you wonder if she should be carrying a wizard’s staff. Or maybe the umbrella would transform into a staff if needed?

She pounded it on the floor once, gaining silence as everyone in the room turned toward her. “Those of you from Arkham will stay here,” she announced. “June has my instructions.”

As Arkham June took the brownies from Henry, he looked at them mournfully but didn’t protest.

“The visiting Diana, Jones and Mozzie will remain here with your June. She will help you prepare.”

“Prepare for what?” Diana asked.

Instead of answering, Lavinia called out, “Travis!”

The New York and Arkham versions of Travis must have been lingering in the hall. They entered the lab now, still in the midst of an intense conversation. Peter heard them mention “SETI” and “wormholes” and “fascinating” before their words were frozen by Lavinia’s glare.

“The two of you are responsible for dismantling Mozzie’s experiment. His methodology and findings must never be published. The crude but effective methods he used have torn our reality. We will strive to heal it, but we cannot risk that others will learn of his experiments and endeavor to repeat them. The wine that he stole from my private collection will be found and returned to me. Not a drop will be left here. Understood?”

NYC and Arkham Travis nodded.

“Peter, Elizabeth, Neal and Henry, come with me. It is time for you to see the future.” Lavinia strode forward and disappeared in a flash of light. They looked at each other and then followed.

 

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When Neal’s eyes recovered from the flash, he saw that they had arrived in his loft in June’s mansion. It crossed his mind to question if Lavinia had simply sent them all home instead of showing them the future.

“I sense your doubt,” Lavinia said. “Patience.”

A painting was on an easel beside the table, and Neal leaned in to inspect it. He admired the craftsmanship, but why was this Neal reproducing a master instead of creating something original? Between the demands of his full-time job at the FBI and the PhD program at Columbia, he needed to focus on projects for his classes.

“Is that what I think it is?” Henry asked, pointing under the chair.

Neal felt his heart skip a beat. It was a tracking anklet. He’d worn one briefly last year, and he’d vowed never to repeat the experience.

“What’s going on?” Peter asked. “Is this the same world where Neal was in prison?”

“It is called _canon_ ,” Lavinia said.

The door to the loft opened, and canon Neal strode in. He hung up his jacket and sat down in the chair in front of the easel. He took a deep breath and then reached down for the anklet, snapping it around his leg. Then he added paints onto a palette and mixed the colors he wanted. He applied a few brush strokes to the painting, then leaned back and frowned at it.

“Did he mess up?” asked Peter.

Neal shook his head. Would it sound too vain if he said it was excellent work?

“Nah,” Henry said. “I know that look. He wants to paint but he’s too distracted by something else to give it the focus he thinks it deserves.”

Lavinia pushed Henry, who stumbled forward. With a glance back at her he said, “Okay, hint taken.” He sat on another of the chairs at the dining table and placed his hand on Neal’s arm. “Hey, what’s with the anklet, kiddo?”

It was odd hearing Henry say that. He was used to being older than his cousin, but this Neal was in his thirties now, while Henry had turned twenty-nine over the summer.

Canon Neal put down the palette and clasped a hand over Henry’s as if to hold him in place. He stared at him a few moments before saying, “Been a long time since I’ve seen your ghost. Last time, I was in prison.”

“He remembers our visit,” Neal said in an undertone to Peter and El.

“You’re out now,” Henry said.

“Yeah. I escaped near the end of my four years to rescue Kate. That didn’t end well. Peter Burke found me and arrested me again within a day. They gave me another four years. I convinced Peter to let me finish my sentence consulting for him at the FBI, like a work-release.” He glanced down at his anklet. “Now I have this thing and I’m barred from most museums because of my criminal record.”

“Nice place you’re living in, though,” Henry said. “You’re renting from June Ellington?”

Canon Neal nodded. “She’s been great. I’ll miss her.”

Peter and Neal both inhaled sharply at that comment.

“Planning on leaving?” Henry asked. “Why?”

“The deal with the FBI was interesting at first. Peter was a friend, almost like a father to me. But after my real dad showed up and spread his chaos, things soured.”

“James found you?”

“Yeah. He’s like a plague. Ellen was murdered.”

“Ellen’s dead?” Neal looked shaken.

 

 

Canon Neal continued, “A senator became implicated in Dad’s old crimes. In the end James shot the senator to escape, and Peter was arrested for the murder.”

El gasped.

Henry looked at Peter in shock before turning his attention back to the conversation. “He’s in prison?”

“Not anymore. Elizabeth told me to do whatever it takes to get him out. There wasn’t exactly a legal way to get the money needed to bribe the right officials before the deadline. Peter’s out, cleared of all charges, but he knows there’s something fishy going on. I took a massive risk to get Peter freed, and I’m being blackmailed over it. And after a few moments of gratitude, now all I’m getting from Peter is suspicion. Fortunately, Mozzie’s figured out how to hack the anklet. As of this week, my two-mile radius is no longer an issue.”

“What are you gonna do?” Henry asked.

Canon Neal turned in his chair to face Henry directly. “I’m tired of being the FBI’s puppet. My experiences with Agent Kramer taught me I’ll never be trusted or treated fairly by them. When the time’s right, I’m cutting all the strings and disappearing for good. Probably after Peter gets settled in D.C.”

“We’re moving to D.C.?” El murmured.

Peter shrugged. Who knew what his career plan would look like this far in the future?

Neal shook his head at his older self. “Flight instinct. Always bites me in the end.”

“At last, progress,” Peter said. “Admitting you have a problem is half the battle.”

Neal looked ready to retort, but Henry gave them a pointed glance and then continued, “Speaking of D.C., did you connect with our family?”

Canon Neal snorted. “They wouldn’t want to associate with me. I’m a criminal who’s followed by death and destruction. Kate and Adler and Ellen are all dead. Mozzie was shot, the bullet barely missing his heart. Last time I tried to leave New York, I was shot and brought back in handcuffs. Next time I’m making a clean getaway.”

“Did he go to Columbia?” Peter asked, and Henry posed the question to canon Neal.

Canon Neal shook his head. “I didn’t remember you as such an optimist. How could I afford that on what the FBI pays? They’d notice if I used my stash from my old crime sprees for something like that, not that there’s anything left these days. Anyway, can you imagine Columbia would want to enroll an ex-con wearing a tracking anklet? I took a few correspondence courses in prison, and added to the list of languages I speak. Studying art might have been fun, but the languages will be more practical. It opens up the list of places where I can go when I’m ready to leave.”

“Is it really Christmas?” El asked. “There’s no tree, no decorations, no cards.”

“What day is it?” Henry asked.

“Christmas Eve,” was the answer. “Are you planning some kind of _It’s a Wonderful Life_ intervention? I gotta tell you, I’m no George Bailey. I used to try helping my friends, but I’ve learned my lesson. I just make things worse and they either die or hate me in the end.” Canon Neal looked and sounded pained, and the words made Neal’s heart drop.

“Oh, Neal,” El whispered.

Henry’s free hand clenched under the table, but he kept his tone even as he said, “Remember when we were on the road, playing at being rock stars and planning to take down Masterson Music so they couldn’t cheat any more musicians?”

“I haven’t thought about that in ages. The Urban Legend con. How many times did we try to find the key to pulling that one off? I always regretted we didn’t get to try it.”

Henry let go of canon Neal to look at his cousin. “Well, there you go, George Bailey. Taking Peter’s deal not only gave you a better life, it also meant we took down a corrupt corporate giant.”

“It means more than that,” said Elizabeth. “Because of that deal, Henry’s alive, Neal’s going to Columbia, and we’re all friends.”

“We’re also family because of it,” Peter said, adding, “We learned that in this reality Noelle and Joe don’t meet and get married, so here I’m not your uncle.”

Neal nodded. “My going to work at the FBI turned out to be the best for everyone.” He thought he’d suppressed how troubled he felt, but apparently wasn’t successful.

“Something wrong?” Peter asked him.

“I’d wondered if…” Neal stopped when there was a knock on the door to the loft.

 

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Canon Peter opened the door and walked in before canon Neal finished turning around. “The tracking software showed you hadn’t moved in hours.”

Watching from a spot near the fireplace, El squeezed Peter’s hand. “You aged well,” she said, sounding like she was grasping for something positive to say.

Peter wanted to give himself the benefit of the doubt. Canon Neal may have been exaggerating how bad things were, but his gut was telling him something was wrong. The tension between them wasn’t something canon Neal had imagined.

Canon Neal had picked up his palette and brush when Henry let go of him, but now he put them aside. “Guess I lost track of time. I get in a zone when I’m painting. You know how it is.”

“Can’t say I do. I wondered if the anklet was malfunctioning. Or hacked.”

“It’s the best on the market. Never been beaten.”

“That was true when we first made our deal, but there’ve been several improvements since then.” Canon Peter held up a box. “I brought you a present. I was going to wait until you were back in the office, but it seemed best to bring it by now.”

Canon Neal rolled his eyes. He played it sarcastically, but looked a little apprehensive. “And I didn’t get you anything. I’m not exactly in a Christmas mood, Peter.”

Canon Peter opened the box, which held a tracking anklet. “It’s time for an upgrade.”

Canon Neal stood and placed his foot on one of the chairs. Canon Peter handed him the key to unlock the anklet. He handed over the old anklet and took the new one, holding it up to get a good look. Then he glanced at his handler. “When did you stop trusting me, Peter?”

“When I remembered that you’re a criminal. I let myself forget that for a while, but I’m seeing things more clearly now. The whole team is like family. You know that, but you’re not above taking advantage of that, either. El reminded me that I’ve been letting my emotions guide my decisions too much recently. I can’t afford to do that anymore.” He looked away, as if that had been as painful to say as it was to hear. “Put it on.” He watched to make sure the anklet snapped completely shut. “There we go.”

Canon Neal placed his foot back on the floor. “Yeah, there we go. So this is the new, improved, unemotional Peter Burke?”

“I’m not turning into a Vulcan,” Peter protested. “I’m just remembering that part of my job is – was – keeping you from violating the terms of your release, and I haven’t always had the objectivity to do that.”

From where he was watching, Peter frowned. Why refer to that role in the past tense? Looking around, he saw that El, Neal and Henry were all frowning, too.

“So now it’s up to Jones, or whoever takes your place as my handler. Are you gonna find someone willing to risk his career by working with me?”

Canon Peter grimaced. “Did he tell you I said that? I realize it sounded harsh, but I was being candid with him. You present a lot of challenges, stuff I’d never considered when we first made your deal. You have… baggage. Your dad. WITSEC. Enemies like Keller. The impacts to El, to my career… I went to prison, Neal. Me!”

As canon Peter got more agitated, so did canon Neal. He ran his hands through his hair and there was a brightness in his eyes that might have been tears. “Yeah, and everyone rallied around to support you. We _all_ worked our asses off hoping to find a way to clear you. Kinda like everyone did when I was falsely accused of stealing the treasure. Oh, wait. That’s right. No one believed me. I had to handle that on my own. And with no one backing me up, Keller was able to jump in to take advantage of the situation. You know it tore me apart too when he kidnapped El.”

That brought another gasp from the listeners.

Canon Neal sounded particularly bitter as he continued, “And your career isn’t exactly suffering, is it? You got the big promotion and fancy new car. The team’s closure rate is at record levels. And this is my reward.” He gestured toward the new anklet. “Yeah, Merry Christmas.”

“Don’t make me out to be the Grinch here. You reap what you sow.”

The visitors had been quiet as the drama unfolded, but Henry couldn’t take anymore. “See? I told you! I told you two years ago that if you treated Neal like a criminal, he’d believe he couldn’t change. This is exactly what I was warning you about!”

Peter patted him on the back. “I got this.” He stepped forward and put a hand on the shoulder of older, canon Peter. “What the hell are you doing?”

Canon Peter stared at him, then glanced at Neal. “Is this some kind of joke? Neal?” He waved his hand in front of canon Neal’s face, but the younger man had frozen as soon as Peter interacted with his alternate self. “What did you do to him? Who are you, some kind of impersonator?” He snapped his fingers in front of Neal. “It’s not funny, Neal. This is not the time to be fooling around.”

“I’m you. A version of you from an alternate timeline.” 

Canon Peter looked him over, studying him as if he were a puzzle to be solved. “Where’d you get those pajamas? I thought I convinced El to give them away, preferably to someone who was colorblind.”

“Watch closely,” Peter said. He removed his hand and then touched canon Peter again a second later. “You think an impersonator could disappear and reappear like that?”

Canon Peter shook his head. “It’s unbelievable, but how do I doubt the evidence that I see and hear and feel right in front of me? Okay. I — that is _you_ — wouldn’t pop into another timeline for no reason. What do you want?”

“I’m trying to figure out what turned me into Scrooge.”

“I’m not Scrooge. But at least he believed in earning your way legitimately with hard work. Neal’s too prone to taking shortcuts. He needs to learn he can’t get away with that. I’m putting a stop to it the only way I know how.”

“By moving to D.C. and abandoning him?”

“Listen, I won’t deny Caffrey’s brilliant, and he can lure you into a fun ride if you’re willing to ignore all the rules he breaks. But in the end, he’s a con and I’m a cop, and those don’t mix, not if you’re also trying to be both friends and colleagues. I’ve let him get away with too much, and now I’m admitting that it’s gone too far. He needs to start over with someone who can be objective. For both our sakes, it’s time to cut the ties.”

“Well, they agree on that at least,” Henry muttered.

“Sniping isn’t helping.” Before canon Peter could ask who he was talking to, Peter grabbed Henry’s nearest wrist and turned back to canon Peter. “His name’s Henry. Do you see him?”

Canon Peter nodded.

“Henry, time to show off those degrees in psychology. I hadn’t realized how much the things you told me two years ago stuck with me, but I can see now it made a world of difference. Talk to him.”

Henry nodded. “If you want Neal to act like a consultant for the FBI instead of acting like a criminal, then you need to be consistent. Treat him like a consultant. If you keep treating him like a criminal and calling him one, then you essentially brainwash him into thinking that’s all he’ll ever be. In that scenario, don’t be surprised if he acts like a criminal. Not just a criminal like he was before – out to take something because it’s there and he enjoys the challenge – but one with a grudge because he feels betrayed by his so-called-friends in the FBI.”

Peter glanced around to see where Neal had gone, and saw he’d put his hand on his canon counterpart’s shoulder. “Both of you hear that?” Peter asked.

Both Neals nodded.

Canon Neal looked around his apartment in wonder. “I thought Henry was a ghost, frozen in time as younger than me, but that doesn’t explain why I’m seeing a younger version of myself and of Peter. I’m grateful for what Henry’s trying to explain but…  What? How?” He spread his hands in a gesture of defeat. “I don’t even know what to ask.”

“How about a glass of wine?” Neal suggested. “This could take a while.”

Lavinia pounded her umbrella on the floor again. This time it made Peter think of a judge pounding a gavel. “You may continue this conversation without remaining in constant contact.”

Peter and Neal removed their hands from their counterparts. “Still see us?” Peter asked, and the canon versions of themselves nodded. “Okay. Let’s get comfortable and have what I call a Caffrey Conversation.”

The Neals bumped into each other as they stepped toward the wine cabinet. “Sorry,” said the visiting Neal. “It’s your place. You do the honors.”

“No,” Lavinia said. “The wine must wait.”

With a shrug, they joined Peter and Henry in pulling dining chairs toward the living area. Everyone but Lavinia sat down. She seemed determined to stand guard.

“We’re from another universe,” Neal told his canon counterpart. “In our timeline, it’s December 2005 and I didn’t go to prison. I ran into Peter when he was working undercover on a case two years ago. The crew was led by someone too violent for my taste, and I helped Peter catch him. After that I started working as a consultant for the FBI.”

“How’d you avoid prison time?” canon Neal asked.

“I gave a confession in return for immunity. Working for Peter and the FBI… It’s like learning a new language. They think differently than I’m used to, but it’s been worth the effort of learning how to communicate with them.”

“Absolutely,” Peter agreed. “You’ve done great work. You’ve helped people and made a difference. We’ve both had to make some compromises along the way.” Turning to his counterpart he added, “Not breaking the law, but being willing to approach things differently from what I learned at Quantico.” He paused. “Sounds like you need to talk some stuff through with El and with Neal. What I’ve heard is that they both feel they need to keep things from you. Has it always been that way?”

Canon Peter started to answer, and then paused to think it over before saying, “El, too?” He looked to canon Neal for clarification.

“She was desperate to get you out of prison,” was all he’d say.

That made canon Peter sigh. “Okay, I’ll talk to her about that when I get home. But to answer your question, no, we haven’t always been at odds. There were times we made a great team, and that only works when you communicate and trust each other. Or even if there wasn’t trust, at least there was faith.” He looked at his version of Neal. “Remember breaking into the U-boat? Talk about a leap of faith.”

Canon Neal studied him, as if looking for something. Or longing for something. “Yeah. And I remember being Butch and Sundance, breaking into a bank to stop the thieves already inside. You’re right. We made a good team sometimes. But lately, especially since you got out of prison, you seem like someone else. Instead of the friend who was with me on the U-boat, you seem more like the agent who accused me of stealing the treasure. Henry was right about that. I felt betrayed and that feeling turned me against you. If you’d listened to me when I’d said I was innocent, things could have gone very differently.”

“Are you innocent this time?” canon Peter challenged.

“There are a few things that I did recently with the best intentions, but the Bureau wouldn’t see it that way.”

“Again? After everything we did to get you back from the island and reinstate your deal? Did you get homesick visiting me in prison and decide you wanted to go back?”

“How many times are you going to remind me that you can send me back to prison?”

“That isn’t… I’m not threatening to send you back. But don’t you see what you’re doing? Jeopardizing your deal is bad enough at any time, but now is not… Don’t you see the position I’m in?”

“Yeah, you’re safe and cleared of all charges. I’d love to be in your shoes.”

They glared at each other.

“Listen, venting has its place,” Henry said. “Getting your issues out in the open is better than bottling them up. But eventually you have to let it go and move on. Are you ready for that?”

“He’s got a point,” Peter agreed. “How about you try listening to each other? No judgements. Just hear each other out.”

Canon Neal gave his Peter a stubborn look. “You think you’re capable of that?”

In response canon Peter said, “We’ve done it before. There was that night I gave you personal immunity for anything you confessed before dawn. I’ve always abided by that.”

“Can we do that again?” canon Neal asked. “It won’t take until dawn. But if I could tell you what’s going on, really trust you…” He looked wistful. “Everything I did this time, it was for you. I was trying to help you, in the only way I knew how.”

“It’s Christmas Eve,” canon Peter said. He reached for his badge, and placed it on the coffee table. “I’m off the clock, and a holiday centered on the birth of a baby is surely about new beginnings and hope. Even a lapsed Catholic can’t ignore all of that. Let’s give it a try. Tonight I’m not an agent. Just an old friend who wants to reconnect and help, if I can.”

Canon Neal looked around the room. “Would you do it?” he asked his counterpart.

Neal nodded, and Henry added, “Honestly, what’s the worst that could happen? And is that any worse than how things are now?”

“You have no idea how much I missed you.” Canon Neal wasn’t the only one looking rather emotional at that point.

El spoke up. “Peter. Sorry, not you, hon. The other Peter. If you’re going to stay and hear Neal out, shouldn’t you call your wife and let her know you’re going to be late getting home?”

“Oh, God, you’re right.” Canon Peter stood and pulled a cell phone out of his pocket while he walked over to the kitchen to assure his wife that he was simply running late and wasn’t in any danger. As the call was wrapping up, Henry elbowed Neal and whispered something. Neal wandered over to grab a plate of cookies from the countertop and bumped into canon Peter.

A moment later both Peters said, “Neal,” in a stern tone.

Neal handed the plate of cookies to El and pulled a phone out of his sleeve. Henry leaned forward to look at it. “Cool. I haven’t seen one of these before.”

“And he’s the reformed one?” canon Peter said, rolling his eyes.

“It’s a smartphone,” canon Neal said, taking the phone. “Much better than the cellphones you have now. You’ll love the touchscreen. See, you press here, and then enter the password.”

“Which you don’t know,” canon Peter said smugly.

“You change it frequently,” said Neal. “This is December, so it’s Joe’s birthday.” He entered the password and then canon Neal started showing Henry how to access the apps.

“You know my password?” canon Peter asked.

“I didn’t know that.” Peter pulled out his own phone and entered the password. “I’m changing it right now.”

“Good idea,” said Neal. “It’s getting close to January, so time to change it to your anniversary.” He grinned at El. “That’s the most important date for him to remember, which puts it at the top of his list each year.”

“I didn’t know you were so romantic,” El said approvingly to her husband. “What do you use for February?”

“Who’s Joe?” asked canon Neal as he handed to phone over to Henry.

“Oh, that’s Peter’s older brother. Nice guy. We all went to his wedding in Hawaii last Christmas,” Neal explained.

“You have a brother?” canon Neal asked.

“You went to his wedding?” canon Peter asked. “What wedding? He’s never remarried.”

“Your reality sucks apparently,” said Neal. He nudged his counterpart. “Did Peter ever tell you about his encounter with Bigfoot?”

“You told him about Bigfoot!” canon Peter almost yelled. “I can’t believe this.”

“You weren’t supposed to tell anyone,” Peter admonished Neal.

“But you already told me. I can tell me, right? Other me. So here’s the deal,” he explained to an avidly listening canon Neal. “Peter’s parents are awesome, and they have a cabin in the Catskills. Great place to get away and think, by the way. Get them to take you there sometime to decompress after a big case.”

Peter took the phone away from Henry and returned it to canon Peter. “Here. They’re masters at double-teaming to distract us.” He said it sternly, but he was actually glad that his Neal and Henry had gotten canon Neal smiling. This would go better if he were relaxed.

Canon Peter nodded. “Neal, I know you have an infinite capacity for putting off a difficult discussion. Stop the delaying tactics and tell me what you did.”

At last, canon Neal explained how Curtis Hagen had set up the deal to release canon Peter from prison, and the things Hagen was blackmailing him into doing as a result.

Canon Peter noted, “If Hagen kept the video of you stealing the gold coins, he thinks he has the upper hand. He’ll coerce you into committing even more crimes, and eventually you’ll be caught and tossed back into prison. Maybe this is his revenge for your part in catching him when we first made your deal.”

Canon Neal nodded, while the other Neal and Peter shared a significant glance. Their version of Hagen was also causing trouble, but was taking a different path.

“Anyone want a beer?” canon Peter asked. No one took him up on it, so he grabbed one beer from the fridge and paced in the way Peter recognized he did himself when working through a puzzle. Finally he stopped and drank deeply before saying, “There has to be a way to catch Hagen at his own game without putting the two of us in prison.”

“That’s the spirit!” Peter said, wanting to encourage that line of thought. “Get in the trenches with Neal to solve this. Show him there’s a legal solution, and that he’s worth the effort of teaching him your way of doing things.”

“Yeah,” Henry added. “Instead of berating him for doing things the only way he knows, bring him over from the dark side.” He paused. “You have _Star Wars_ , right?” When the canon versions nodded he continued, “Obviously James Bennett was Vader, and his actions recently have been pushing his son to the dark side. You need to make sure that there’s an opportunity for the light to win.”

“One last case,” canon Neal suggested. “We bring Hagen to justice and clean up this whole mess before we end our partnership, and then you start over in your new job and I get a fresh start with a new handler.”

“Don’t think of it as an end,” Peter suggested. “The dynamic between you may change, but you’re still friends. And I have a suggestion for after you’ve dealt with Hagen. Make Neal’s first case with his new handler about finding this guy.” He pointed at Henry. “Find him, or find justice for him if he died.”

“Who are you?” canon Peter asked Henry.

“Remember the Winston-Winslow case?” Peter said before Henry could answer. “Was Robert Winslow arrested?”

Canon Peter shook his head. “He ran before that could happen. As far as I know, he’s still on the wanted list.”

“When James Bennett arrived on the scene, did you research Neal’s other family ties?”

“Not much family to speak of on the Bennett side. Grandparents long deceased, and James had a stepsister he hadn’t contacted in decades. On the Caffrey side the grandparents are an ambassador and actress. An uncle was in the Air Force, and left a widow and daughter. An aunt who’s a psychology professor used to work at Win-Win, and was married to Robert Winslow for a time.”

Henry swallowed the cookie he’d been eating and said, “Hi, I’m Henry Winslow. Son of Noelle and Robert. With Win-Win resources, as a teenager I figured out where Neal was placed in WITSEC, and when I was twenty I tracked him down after he ran away. He’s been my best friend ever since. In my reality, my dad wanted to kill me when my grandfather decided to pass him over for the CEO role and groom me for the job instead. Sounds like in this reality maybe Dad got his wish, at least when it came to getting rid of me.”

“You died in a boating accident,” canon Peter recalled.

“No body was found,” canon Neal added.

“Has Robert been causing any issues around here?” Neal asked. “In our reality after he went on the run, the only reason he didn’t kill me was that Henry kept him engaged in a game of cat-and-mouse.”

“I’d wondered if Henry faked his death,” canon Neal said. “In the end I decided he hadn’t, because he never got in touch, but maybe he didn’t want to point Robert in my direction.” He studied Henry for a while. “Either way, I’d like to know. If we find Robert and arrest him, then if you’re alive you can go home. If not… well, at least I’d have closure.”

“A missing persons case isn’t something the White Collar team can take,” canon Peter mused, “But Robert’s wanted for White Collar crimes. If I point out that he’s Neal’s uncle, I might be able to make an argument for using Neal’s knowledge of him to reopen the hunt for Robert.”

“We caught a fugitive from the top-ten wanted list on the island,” canon Neal said. “We’ve got a good track record.” He was sounding more positive than he had all evening.

Peter wanted to ask what island they were talking about and who they’d caught, but Lavinia stepped in and announced that they needed to wrap up.

Neal looked at his counterpart. “What are you going to do when your sentence is up and you’re off anklet?”

Canon Neal gave the Peters a sideways glance and shrugged. “Lately I hadn’t thought I’d ever get off anklet, short of cutting it off and becoming a fugitive.”

“But before the recent issues, what did you have in mind?”

“Not a lot of opportunities for an ex-con. Maybe security work?”

“Would Sara give you a recommendation at Sterling-Bosch?” Neal asked. “Or for that matter, if you find Henry he might want to bring you into Win-Win. Think about getting serious about the art — making your own works instead of forgeries.”

“To be a real artist, you have to know who you are,” canon Neal countered.

“Well, figure it out. Or consider teaching others if you don’t feel inspired to create your own works. Remember you have options.”

Henry stood abruptly. “We’re wasting our time here. No one’s going to remember this conversation, right?” he asked Lavinia.

“But he remembered us,” Neal objected, gesturing toward his canon self. “He mentioned your visit when he was in prison, and that was years ago from his perspective.”

“Diana was with you,” Lavinia said.

Peter wasn’t sure what that had to do with it. And Henry challenged her with, “So?”

“You have much to learn,” she told him. Then she rapped twice on the loft’s door with her umbrella. The door opened and Diana walked through with a bottle of wine.

“Whoa,” said canon Neal. “What happened to the baby bump?”

“Huh?” she asked, looking as confused at Peter felt.

Henry grinned. “Sounds like in this reality you’re pregnant.”

“Well.” She seemed at a loss for words as she placed the wine bottle on the dining room table. “Caffrey, just tell me you’re not the father.”

Canon Neal grinned and canon Peter chuckled, saying, “I’m starting to see the family resemblance between Neal and his cousin. How do you handle both of them?”

Peter smiled. “Mostly they keep each other in check. When they’re getting out of hand, I send in Diana.”

“Cut it out and get me a couple of wine glasses,” Diana ordered.

Canon Neal obliged, pouring two glasses of wine. “Interesting color,” he said.

Peter nodded. It seemed like the color of autumn leaves, which he realized was actually multiple colors, but the wine did seem to change colors as he looked at it.

“Peter and Neal — the ones who actually belong in this reality — drink up,” Diana said. “This stuff will fix these memories in your minds. What you do with those memories is up to you. If you want to remember, you will.”

They clinked glasses and chugged the wine in a manner that had Neal wincing as the canon characters put the glasses back on the table.

Canon Peter held out his hand. “Remember all of it?”

“Yeah.” Canon Neal shook his hand.

Lavinia shepherded the visitors out the loft’s door, Diana carrying the wine bottle. “But how does that work?” Henry was demanding to know as he walked, bumping into a table by the doorway.

Peter left last and heard his counterpart saying to canon Neal, “Come by the house tomorrow? We can strategize over Christmas dinner how to stop Hagen. If El hears our plans, maybe she’ll be less worried.”

Peter reached out for his wife’s hand as another bright flash of light enveloped them.

 

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

This time instead of landing Arkham again, they were back in June’s mansion. The study was still set up from their Round Table discussion, with their notes on the table. Lanterns and candles lit the room.

Diana plopped into her chair. “Pregnant. I did not see that coming.”

Lavinia whisked away the wine bottle Diana had been holding, placing it in her satchel. June invited everyone to be seated, and Travis passed around a plate of brownies that looked like the ones Arkham Elizabeth and Peter had baked.

When Henry reached for a brownie, Lavinia pushed his hand away. “You already have yours,” she said. He grinned and pulled a brownie from the breast pocket of his pajamas.

“One for the road?” Neal asked.

“You never know when you’ll need a snack. Anyway, I wanted a memento from our visit to other worlds, but something perishable isn’t exactly going to do the trick for the long term.” He took a bite of the brownie.

“Travis, tell them,” Lavinia ordered before taking a seat herself.

With a nod to her, Travis said, “Mozzie’s unified theory of fiction was close to the mark, but there’s a twist he missed. Authors don’t visit alternate universes to borrow ideas. They create those universes. Their ideas are the sparks that kick off the big bangs.”

Diana put down her brownie and joked, “Are you saying I’m God in the Arkham universe?”

“More like a specially charged particle with enough force to kick things off,” Travis said. “Think of it as having a spark that’s unique. That’s why the visits you were part of could be remembered in that other universe, because you have the storytelling spark that makes scenes memorable.” He shrugged. “And Lavinia’s wine had an additional kick to make the effects of the spark even stronger.”

Mozzie had been staring off in the distance, but he snapped back to join the conversation with, “Reading the same work of fiction is like a shared dream among readers!”

“Yes,” said June. “And in the visits, touching a character in the alternate universe was essentially interrupting the narrative. The only interruptions that had any lasting impact were the ones where an authoress was present. Her involvement was akin to making edits to the story, as opposed to simply discussing a story that was already published.”

“But I set the direction in the Arkham stories,” Diana said.

“Do you?” asked Lavinia. “Or do you reveal what you already know to be true?”

“Sometimes it does feel like the stories tell themselves,” Diana admitted. “I know there are certain things the characters would never do, for instance.”

“Our Round Table discussions help you discover what the characters are doing,” June said. “What they must do.”

“What they want or need to do,” Henry added. “I’ve read about the psychology of storytelling, and often authors describe a well-defined character as taking the narrative in a direction that surprises the writer.”

“We experienced a crossover,” El said. “Characters from one or more different stories interacting.”

“A good description,” June agreed.

“Exactly,” added Mozzie. “I wanted us to experience those other stories to clarify our own direction.”

“And do you have clarity?” Lavinia asked. “Peter?”

He looked around the table, seeming to gather his thoughts before answering. “I’ve wondered sometimes if Neal would get bored working at White Collar, and what that might lead to. I learned that we can continue working together, even if the relationship evolves into something different. Someday I might be a mentor instead of a boss, and that will be okay.” He looked at Neal. “What about you? Did you gain any clarity?”

“I’ve been wondering about what happens when I finish my studies at Columbia. Do I owe it to you to stay at the FBI? Would I regret staying and not following other opportunities? Or would I regret leaving?” He shrugged. “I can’t say I have the answers, but I’ve realized there’s a difference between leaving my job and leaving the relationship I’ve built with you and El and the team.”

Henry nodded in approval, and Lavinia stood and tapped him on the shoulder. “It’s getting late. Henry will help me clean up. Everyone else needs to sleep. These adventures have exhausted you.” She placed her hand briefly on Neal’s head as she walked around the room.

Sure enough, everyone was yawning at her words. Only Henry seemed wide awake as the others ambled away toward their rooms. He crossed his arms and waited until he and Lavinia were the only ones in the room before asking, “What did you put in the brownies they ate?”

“You’ve read about my emerald wine. It’s quite relaxing.”

“They’re going to forget that conversation, aren’t they?”

“Not entirely. Diana was present.”

“Well, what’s up? Are we going to help that Neal we just met?”

“Didn’t you already help him?”

“Sure, but we could do more. I want to do something for his time in prison. Can we get in touch with the me in that universe, get him to send Neal some art supplies occasionally?”

“Hmm. You assume you are alive there to take such actions.”

“It would be a good way to leave some clues that Peter and Neal can follow there to find me and Robert.”

“Have you considered that your adverse reaction to the idea of ghosts is because in most alternate realities you are one yourself?”

“I’ve considered how much I don’t want to be haunted by my dad. C’mon. I know you feel a connection to Arkham Neal. Now that you’ve met that other Neal, you want to help him, too.”

“I might be able to arrange a benefactor while that Neal is in prison.”

“The me in that universe looks forward to meeting you.”

“I didn’t say the benefactor would be you.”

“Really? You know, I’m not the only person we encountered in only one reality. What if you’re my Arkham counterpart?” Henry suggested.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Well, I know why Arkham Neal gets frustrated by conversations with you. Are you allergic to straight answers?”

“The things he needs to know he must find on his own. Learning is more important than knowing.”

“So if you tell me the answers, I miss out on the experience of learning those answers, and the answers won’t stick with me the same way or make as much sense as if I’d figured them out myself.” Henry huffed out a breath. “Maybe you’re actually my mother’s counterpart? That almost sounded like something she’d say.”

Ignoring his comment, Lavinia said, “Show me the memento you brought with you.”

“Huh?” Henry said, doing his best to look innocent. “You saw me eat the brownie I brought from Arkham.”

“And you were willing to consume it because you brought something from the last world you visited. Show me.”

“Sounding more and more like Mom,” he complained. Henry dug into his pocket and pulled out two pennies he’d grabbed from the table at the entrance to Neal’s loft. Holding them up, he saw that one was from 2005, and the other said it was minted in 2012.

Lavinia opened her bag and pulled out a small vial filled with a shimmering white goo. She took the 2012 penny and dropped it in the vial before Henry could protest. A moment later she pulled the penny back out. It didn’t seem that any goo stuck to it, but now it glowed.

“Have you learned the answer?” she asked.

And somehow he seemed to know. “That was a form of algolnium?”

“It is an element unique to my AU. Keep this memento hidden, and use it if you have need of me. It will work only once, so don’t waste it.”

Henry placed it back in his pocket, knowing that when he got home he’d lock it in the safe he used to hold his gun and important papers. Things would have to be extremely serious to need intervention from another universe, so he sincerely hoped he’d never need to use it.

“Wise,” Lavinia said, and she pressed her thumb against his forehead. “My gift to you,” she said, before rapping her umbrella on the floor three times and disappearing in a bright flash.

 

**Neal’s loft, Manhattan, NY. Saturday morning. December 17, 2005.**

Neal could roll over in his bed to escape being licked by Satchmo, but somehow Bugsy had gotten on top of the bed and simply ran around Neal to find his face again.

Bugsy was too little to get onto the bed on his own. Obviously he had an accomplice.

“Henry! What’s with the extra roommates?”

“We’re keeping them out of the way while Mozzie turns the power back on.”

Neal sat up, to find his cousin fully dressed. Odd that Henry looked like he’d been up and about for a while. Neal was struggling to wake up. They’d gone to bed at the same time, knocked out by that wine Mozzie had served. “I thought the ice storm took out the power.”

“That’s what he wanted us to think. Last night he messed with the fuse box because he wanted to create the right atmosphere.”

“For what?” Neal asked.

“Any dreams last night?”

Neal sat up and stretched, letting his mind wander. “Yeah. Not nightmares, but some things are coming back to me.”

“Hold on to them. We’ll talk about them after breakfast.”

Of course Henry’s top priority would be food. Neal pushed Bugsy away and got out of bed. As he got moving and dressed, he finally felt more awake.

Breakfast had been set up as a buffet. Neal was about halfway through his second cup of coffee when the last of the stragglers joined the gathering in the dining room.

“Definitely icy out there,” Jones announced. He’d gone outside to check on the conditions but hadn’t stayed out for long. He poured a cup of coffee and cradled the warm mug in his hands. He looked more awake than everyone but Henry. The rest — and Neal included himself in this group — looked like they’d been woken from a deep sleep and were still pulling themselves out of their dreams.

“Anyone else have strange dreams?” Diana asked.

Others nodded.

“I dreamed we visited the world you created for Arkham Files,” June said.

Peter nodded. “And another world where…” He glanced at Neal.

“Where I went to prison?” Neal asked.

Elizabeth was wide-eyed. “Me, too. I dreamed Peter and I eavesdropped on our upcoming Christmas with his parents, but things were different. Neal was in prison. Joe hadn’t married Noelle.”

Diana added, “I remember seeing Neal in the future, and also being in Arkham.”

“There were brownies,” Henry mentioned.

Jones looked at them all as if he thought they were nuts. “Are you kidding? You think you were all having the same dream?”

“That was my intention,” Mozzie said. “A mind-opening wine after a conversation about Diana’s stories. We were all on the same wavelength. You didn’t drink the wine, so you missed out.”

Jones shook his head and didn’t look like he thought he’d missed out on anything he’d want to participate in.

“Fascinating,” said Travis. “Should this become a plot element in an upcoming story, Diana?”

She considered it, and then shook her head. “No. Honestly, I thought my stories were out there, but this dream is too weird even for Arkham. No one would believe it.”

 

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

After breakfast, Henry said he wanted to play some music. Neal brought his guitar downstairs and joined him in the mansion’s music room. The others followed, looking to be entertained. They sat around an elegant Christmas tree.

“What do you want to play?” Neal asked.

“I’m feeling in a Christmas mood,” Henry said.

“Now that you mention it, those dreams had a holiday theme,” Neal noted.

Henry sat at the piano and played the “Linus and Lucy” song from the Charlie Brown Christmas special. Then he transitioned into “Peace and Joy,” a holiday song Urban Legend had recorded as part of the Masterson sting. Neal played the guitar part and sang along, with the rest of the group joining in for the chorus. The song had been played extensively on the radio last year at Christmas, and it was popular again this year.

“There’s another song I’ve wanted to try,” Henry said. Having performed in the music room several times before, he walked over to a wall where he knew he could create the sound of a big drum. Taking the guitar from Neal, he alternated between the drum and guitar parts, with Neal taking the keyboards and harmonizing with Henry’s voice.

It was a song about having demons that needed to be controlled, and Henry felt it was perfect for some of the memories brought up last night about their fathers.

When the song was over their audience applauded. “Fantastic!” El called out. “When did you both have time to learn a new song? You’ve been so busy lately.”

_A new song?_ Henry looked at Neal, who seemed bewildered.

“I don’t even remember the title,” Neal admitted. “Who wrote it?”

Somehow Henry _knew_ that the song was titled “Demons” and was by a group called Imagine Dragons. He also _knew_ that it was from 2012.

That’s what Lavinia had given them last night. When she’d brushed by Neal, she’d let the song flow into his mind.

And Henry realized he had a whole treasure trove of future songs in his mind from when she’d pressed her thumb into his forehead. It seemed he’d brought back more than just a penny from his visit to the reality known as canon. He was suddenly feeling a lot warmer toward Lavinia. How’d she know how much that gift would mean to him? Playing music was his main hobby, especially when he wanted to unwind.

Taking a page from Lavinia’s book, instead of answering he said, “Weren’t we supposed to watch some movies?” He transitioned into light bickering with Neal and Diana about what movie they should see first.

“How about ‘Bachelor Mother’?” he suggested, just to see Diana scowl. “I dreamed you were pregnant.”

“Speaking of dreams,” Diana said. “I dreamed you were a jerk. Oops. No, that was reality.”

“I’d suggest ‘A Christmas Carol,’ but since I’m in the community theater production this month I’d like to see something else,” Elizabeth said.

“I know what we need to watch. ‘It’s a Wonderful Life.’ I haven’t seen that in years,” Henry said. He smiled, glad he’d witnessed those other realities, and happy to be back here. They really did have a wonderful life in the New York of 2005, and he expected 2006 to be even better.

“Good choice,” said Neal. “I’ve been told on at least one occasion that I’m like Clarence the angel.”

“Better than being George Bailey,” Peter added. “We don’t need anyone to tell us how good we have things here. We already know it.”

“We know and we’re grateful,” El agreed. “You’re all the best friends we could wish to be snowed in with!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Have you ever wished I’d write something very specific? If so, your opportunity awaits. I’ve signed up to write a story for an auction benefiting charities and other non-profits that help people. I’ve read that ~400 others have also signed up to produce stories, fan art, and to offer beta services. Bidding runs Jan 12-20, 2017. Reach out to me if you’d like more info. 
> 
> In season 5 when Mozzie hacked the anklet, Neal couldn’t actually remove it at will, but an empty anklet seemed the simplest way to clue in the visitors. It’s safe to say I took several liberties with my canon references, combining elements from multiple episodes in a single scene.
> 
> For the most part, the Caffrey Conversation AU takes its inspiration from seasons 1-4 of White Collar, but for a long time I’d imagined what AU Peter would say to his canon self about the events of season 5. In a timely coincidence, it’s almost exactly 3 years since the first time Silbrith left a comment on one of my stories. In it she mentioned using the story to escape the angst of season 5, and now I brought much of that angst back and tried to help everyone deal with it. 
> 
> If you’re looking for other holiday-themed stories featuring these characters, Choirboy Caffrey involves a case that intersects with a Christmas concert in December 2003 (it’s also the story where Neal is compared to Clarence the angel). By the Book sends Neal undercover at a New Year’s Eve party (it features that first conversation between Henry and Peter, which I wrote as part of the aftermath of watching season 5). Caffrey Aloha sends the characters to Hawaii in December 2004 for Christmas and New Year’s and a wedding.
> 
> Comparing James Bennett to Darth Vader was a theme in another story I wrote outside this AU: Written in the Stars. If you’re interested in Urban Legend and the Masterson sting, those are major elements in the story Caffrey Disclosure.
> 
> Usually I use Henry as a mirror to Neal, but in this chapter he's more like a mirror to me and every fan who has wanted to give characters a talking to, or wanted to plead with The Powers That Be to change the direction of a show.
> 
> To my magnificent beta-reader and co-conspirator Silbrith: Thanks for another year of fun! And thanks for letting me play in the Arkham Files sandbox.
> 
> For images and songs related to this story, visit our Pinterest board: https://www.pinterest.com/pennanomen/a-caffrey-christmas-carol/
> 
> My latest post to our blog invites you to join us for a New Year’s party: http://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/2016/12/have-whimsical-new-year.html
> 
> Thanks for reading! Your comments brighten my day. Have a marvelous new year!


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